Black and White Difference

Me and the boys were ending our excursion through Target the other day, and I was directing them to a fast checkout counter. The Pokemon cards hang on the shelf right next to the fast checkout section, so getting the boys past that distraction is like herding cats past a shelf of shiny, dangly string toys.

“Go on, boys,” I urged, “we’ve got to checkout and go, now.” I started to tell them which of the two counters to go to — the one I had randomly selected on the spur of the moment — when I stammered.

The two cashiers were young girls (teenagers), with medium-short, black hair. They both, of course, wore red shirts and khaki pants (the normal uniform for Target folks). The one obvious difference between the two girls was one was white and the other was black.

The words on the tip of my tongue were, “Let’s go right over here to the black girl.” Their skin color was the most easily identifiable difference between them. (At least that was the most “easily identifiable” difference for young boys — or a middle-aged man — to recognize between two teenage girls.)

I held my statement when I realized how that might sound. I changed my direction to “Um, the girl on the right,” and they followed my pointing finger. (Calfgrit4 still hasn’t come to get right and left correct every time, yet. Especially when we’re facing each other.)

Now, had the two cashiers been a teenage girl and a middle-aged woman, I wouldn’t have hesitated identifying them as “the woman” or “the girl.”

Had they been a male and female, I wouldn’t have hesitated saying, “the guy” or “the girl.”

Had they different color hair, I wouldn’t have hesitated saying, “the blonde” or “the one with black hair” (I don’t know if the boys know “brunette” yet).

Had they just about any other distinguishing feature between them, I don’t think I’d have hesitated to use that as an identifier to direct the boys.

But I choked on “black” and “white.” Why is that?

Bullgrit