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I don’t know if it’s because I’m a brown person, but I always notice whenever I’m the ONLY brown person in a room.

Something goes off in my head and I just know without looking that I’m the ONLY brown person present.

Perhaps this is something all brown people have hardwired into them from birth, or it could be because I went to PBA for four full years. That place is so white it’s practically translucent. I’m going to err on the side of PBA because I’m really only brown in contrast to white people. I’m actually what fully fledged brown people call “high yellow.” I hate being called “high yellow,” but that’s a blog post for another day.

Anyway, on Wednesday night I have class from 4-6:50 with a 15 minute break between 5:30-5:45. Normally, I spend the break in class watching crap on YouTube, but this week I was ravenous come 5:45 when our professor gave us a break. My friends, Frank and Mikaela were also hungry, so we decided to walk to the food court on campus and get some dinner.

I was all set and ready to get pizza.

Unfortunately, Papa John’s was out of every kind of pizza except supreme.

I hate supreme pizza for two reasons: 1) the texture of cooked vegetables makes me want to drop kick a chihuahua and 2) the texture of pork sausage makes me want to drop kick a chihuahua. You see why I only eat plain cheese pizza?

There was no line at Wendy’s, so I walked over there and decided to get chicken nuggets and french fries. I ordered my food and waited. Mikaela then ordered a frosty and a large lemonade. Frank came over with his two beverages. Mikaela received her frosty and large lemonade. The girl who was in front of me received her fries. The guy who was behind me received his salad. The guy who was behind him received his burger. Mikaela started calling out my order to the Wendy’s workers. Frank said, “They’re going to spit in your food because of Mikaela.” I quietly agreed, but didn’t want her to stop annoying them. Even if they spit in it at least then I would have food.

I really wanted food.

Seven minutes later my number was called and we raced back to class. I started eating fries while we walked. Frank asked me if we were late. Indeed, we were.

As we were walking down the hallway, I said, “I’ll go in first. I have no shame.”

Alas, I should have had some shame.

Remember, my “I’m the ONLY brown person” sixth sense? Well, it goes off whenever I enter my Wednesday night class. As soon as I walked in the door I realized that I was a racial stereotype personified: A brown girl arriving late eating fried chicken.

Curses.

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