BrokenLogic

I’m not sure if that guy had already been in the car when we boarded it, or if he entered after we sat down, but in any case, I didn’t realize that Chungster and I weren’t alone until a few minutes into the one-stop BART ride from Castro Valley to Bay Fair. It was after 1 AM, and I was taking the last train home from a get-together at Kass’s. (Not the first time I’ve done so, incidentally.)

I was fiddling around with my iPhone, as I often do when I’m bored, when I noticed him sitting diagonally across from me. A black man, maybe in his 20s, in a puffy orange jacket and sagged jeans. He was eyeing the iPhone. At this point, a person with more sense probably would’ve decided to put it away. Somehow, I didn’t.

A few minutes later, I realized he was trying to get my attention. I pulled out one of my earphones, and looked up.

“Huh?”

He muttered something.

“What?”

He repeated himself, slurring the words.

“Sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

He repeated himself yet again. Finally, I was able to make it out. “Lemme have that.” It took maybe a second for something in my head to click, and for me to understand what he was talking about. I skipped a beat.

“Uh, no.”

I slipped the phone back in my pocket, and watched for his reaction. He scowled at me and started shifting around in his seat. Something about his demeanor was almost comical, as if he was imitating a rapper he’d seen on BET, and I think I might’ve laughed if I hadn’t been so damn nervous. He shoved a hand into his jacket pocket and pushed it slightly forward. Maybe I’ve seen too many movies or something, but my immediate thought was: He doesn’t really have a gun.

I’ve never really been in a fight in my entire life, but it occurred to me that he might try to attack me, and I suddenly found myself consciously sizing him up. His enormously puffy jacket made it difficult to gauge his build, but he wasn’t significantly larger than I was. I started mentally running through my possessions for anything that could potentially be used as a weapon. I could take him.

I briefly considered trying to talk him out of it. My mind could only regurgitate useless movie clichés. Don’t do this, man. It’s not worth it.

I thought about just standing up and moving to the next car, but something kept me glued to my seat. You don’t scare me.

I could almost feel the synapses firing as I calculated my next move. Maybe five seconds had passed. Finally, I threw him the most disbelieving look I could muster, broke off eye contact, and shoved my earphones back in.

Thankfully, the train pulled into Bay Fair only a few seconds later. We disembarked and made our way to a crowd of people coming out of an adjacent car. (Why that car had so many people while ours was almost completely deserted, I have no idea.) After a while, I glanced back to see him disappearing down the stairs to the station floor.

Once my heart had stopped hammering in my chest, I played the scene over in my head and realized that I had essentially risked not only my own safety, but Chungster’s as well, for the sake of a phone. In retrospect, it seemed incredibly irresponsible. All I can say in defense is that I had a gut feeling, correct or not, that we were never in any real danger. Regardless, I’m still not sure if I responded appropriately.

While I retained enough mental faculty to be able to drive Chungster home safely, I could barely think about anything else for the rest of the night.

I would have to be delusional to say that I lead anything but a sheltered life. I’ve never lived in a city with a high crime rate or gone to a school where there was any serious concern about gang violence or drug use. Which isn’t to say I don’t hear, see, and read about that shit all the time in the news and in the media, but it’s not something I’ve ever had to experience first-hand. As a result, I’m probably pretty naive about it.

I hate things like racial profiling. I don’t want to be the one who takes a detour to avoid crossing paths with a black guy in some deserted area. I don’t want to have to automatically assume the worst in people. I don’t want to live with constant fear and paranoia. I want to give people the benefit of the doubt, even when they arguably don’t deserve it.

Sadly, it only takes a few incidents like this one to cement a negative stereotype in people’s minds.

Sometimes I can’t figure out how anyone can be anything but overly cynical or completely naive.