New Haven Independent

May 22, 2006

At the restaurant, if parties don’t show up after 15 minutes or so for their reservations, we can give their tables to walk-in guests. This happened on Friday, when I hosted at Roomba, although this time it was complicated by race.
We had been waiting for a party of two to arrive when an African-American man came in asking for a table for two, with no reservation. I looked around, knowing there was nothing at the moment, and I told him so. I apologized and told him that to get a reservation one usually needs to call about a week in advance for a Friday or Saturday night. He walked out.
Five minutes later, a white woman arrived, also asking for a table for two with no reservation. One of the owners was standing next to me and together we looked at the reservation sheet. Since the original table had still not arrived and it had just now been 15 minutes, we made the decision to seat this guest and take the chance that the original guests would not arrive. I took her over to the table and she took out her phone to call her guest.
After another five minutes or so, she called the manager over to talk. Apparently, the African-American man who had come in five minutes before her was this woman’s partner. He felt I was being discriminatory by not granting him the table but allowing his white partner to sit. Our manager explained to her about the 15-minute policy and she understood.
I completely understand how the situation looks. And part of me feels like I should be ashamed of myself, even though I didn’t do anything. I get so sensitive when it comes to matters of race. And to have the finger pointed at me hurts. The truth is, this situation was all a matter of time. Had the gentleman come in five minutes later he would have gotten the table. Had the white woman come in five minutes earlier, she would have been turned down. I felt, for a moment, like I could have been the subject of one of those Dateline hidden camera news stories on how racism pervades society. All I wanted to say was, “This is so not what it looks like.”
I respected the man for approaching us at the front to offer his side, and I imagine it took a lot of courage. I’m sure, too, he was angry. Maybe it angered him even more that we stood there explaining that the situation was only about time. If I were in his shoes, would I believe that? Or would I think, deep down, that time was secondary to color of skin?