BRATTLEBORO — I am sure that you will remember me, Ms. Postal Clerk. I was the Black woman who came into the post office at 4:55 p.m. on a recent Friday.
I understand that 4:55 is terribly close to your 5 p.m. quitting time. I understand that it was a Friday. But whatever it was that led you to interact with me using sharing and blaming behaviors, you need to evolve your interaction skills.
So I will share - in as public a forum as I can obtain - a dissection of what I experienced with you.
As a “flatlander,” I have had many interactions with Vermonters since I first moved here in 2009. I am exploring with great fascination Vermont culture, specifically that of the white Anglo-Saxon protestant, or WASP.
Your actions fit my cultural stereotypes too well. I was stung by a WASP again.
At the counter at the post office, I was being served by the (younger) woman at the counter next to you, not by you; you overheard my conversation with her.
We knew each other, she and I. As I was catching up, I requested a book of stamps and stuck one on an urgent letter (hence, my rush to get to the post office before you closed).
First, you hurried us along by addressing me (the patron) with a “hurry up, we are closing.”
But that wasn't what really put a bee in my bonnet. It was your listening to our conversation. You got several things wrong, and then you had the audacity to comment on what you heard.
After overhearing us chatting about pregnancies (there have been two recent births in our shared community), the other clerk disclosed to me that she was in her first trimester with her first baby. As I was congratulating her, you felt a need to interrupt us with your “hurry up” comment.
As I moved away from the counter, I asked my acquaintance what name had been given to the baby who had been born into our community three days earlier. My friend responded that the couple hadn't named that baby yet.
That is when you interrupted her to mutter (not even under your breath, mind you), “What do you need to know the name for? It's early, yet!”
I can only imagine that you believed we were talking about your postal colleague's first-trimester pregnancy. Not about a baby that was already three days old.
Again, your comments were to me, the patron. Not to your colleague, the other postal clerk.
What chutzpah on your part! That is a phrase from a “newly white” culture of people known as Jews. There aren't many of them up this way. Just like there are not many Colored girls like me.
I am aware that we Jews and Blacks tend to speak louder than WASPS, have more comfort sharing personal information publicly, and (dare I say this one?) can laugh at ourselves. Perhaps all three are traits developed from living in oppressive environments, with daily experience of situations that can feel humiliating or even dangerous.
So I know that Black culture can seem too loud, overly frank, and even scary to WASPS. But you, Ms. Postal Clerk, are a public servant.
The state of Vermont is attracting more and more people from non-white cultures. You can benefit from a closer examination of your biddiness. Your tendency to be a scold. Look the words up, if you don't know their etymology.
I would describe my tendency to become righteously indignant and angry as something that could benefit from closer examination. Which is why I am writing this rather than “going postal” at your counter, at 5:05 p.m. on that Friday.
Which would have really made a mess of both our weekends, wouldn't it?