One of those days (Obi man so)
In 2015, I was in Albany for a 3-month classroom training. It was my first time in the U.S and I was pretty psyched. My colleague and I set off for a department store, hauling along our work backpacks because, you know, safety.
As I picked out gift items for my family back home, I added up the cost in my head, making sure I didn’t spend more than I could afford. I should say I was somewhat nervous because this was a ‘high-end’ store I wouldn’t normally shop at. And ‘shopping while black’ being what it is, I knew to be extra careful.
Done shopping, I heaved my heavy backpack into the trolley I was carrying and made my way to checkout. It was a busy day, with a long queue so my friend was a bit behind. When the total price for my stuff was called out, it was less than what I had calculated.
Huh. My math was off.
As I made the payment, I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that something was wrong. But I shoved it aside, returned the bagged items into my trolley and headed for the exit.
It could be a discount, I thought to myself. That would explain it. But just as I reached the doors, pushing that trolley right to it, an alarm blasted through the whole store.
As part of the training, us foreigners had been taught some rules of the land. One of them was to not move if the police ever pulled you over.
And so, as visions of police cars pulling up to take me away flash before my eyes, I did not move. I could feel the whole store staring at me. And worse, I had left the hotel in the middle of braiding my afro so, not my best look.
Within seconds, a store employee walked up to me.
“I’m gonna have to check your bag, ma’am,” she said.
I nodded and stepped back from the trolley, hoping , praying, wondering if I accidentally dropped something into my bag.
The lady lifted my backpack, and we both saw it:
The ‘stolen’ item.
It was a little box of perfume in hiding.
Relief flooded my whole being. I wasn’t going to jail. I wouldn’t have to call my company. I was going to see my family again!
The lady took the item back to the counter and I followed to make payment, head bowed, burning under the gaze of all in the queue.
Everything’s a blur. I just pull out the first note I can find.
“We’re very sorry ma’am,” she says.
But my head stays down till I leave.
And even now, every time I head out of a store, no matter how careful I’ve been, I expect to hear that sound again. 😒
#Obimanso
Photo by Jacek Dylag on Unsplash
