I picked up a pizza dough to prepare to make a pizza. The customers (3 white men) were standing ahead of me, having a conversation. They were in deep conversation, because they didn’t even see me standing with the dough in my hand, waiting to hear what kind of pizza they planned on ordering.  Eventually, one of the three guys saw me waiting and said to the others, “hey hold up, I think that boy right there is ready for us to order.” 

Boy? Boy? BOY? Did this man really just call ME a boy? I wasn’t sure if I was hearing what I was hearing, so I let it go. When I had finished making their pizzas and they had left, I went to a co-worker and told her that I think that I had just been called a boy. She asked me, “what did you tell him?” I replied, “I didn’t say anything, because I wasn’t sure if that’s what he had said, and I didn’t want to cause a scene for nothin”. She said, “okay. ‘Cause you don’t ever call no Black man no boy.” I said, “I know that’s right! If I was certain that that’s what he had called me, I would have told him that I’m a man and not no boy. I ain’t picking nobody’s cotton and I ain’t working on nobody’s plantation.” 

She said, “it sure feels like it sometime.” I said, “yea, say so. It sure feels like it sometime.” 

It sure feels like it sometime.