me, he asked before ever taking my breakfast order.All I wanted was an omelet. Instead, I felt I was getting an interrogation.The persistent questions alone were making me uncomfortable.
But his shaved head, military-style jackboots and the bullets tattooed on his finger put me on guard—so I finished my meal and exited quickly.
Later, I discovered that his tattoos were gang-related and affiliated with local white supremacist groups.When I returned to my office in Atlanta, I shared the nerve-wracking experience with my manager, one of the few Black directors in the company. “Yeah, these things happen.
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