By: Ash (@haaaymissatwell)
Disclaimer: Read THIS first.
I tap the card and stroll into Indian Creek Station
I walk to the end of the cars as I do daily.
The car starts out empty but as the train makes it way into Kensington and other stations, the car begins to fill with other passengers, most of them African American, on their way to work and minding their own business like myself.
The train remains that way until we get to East Lake and Caucasian people begin to board. There must a festival or sporting today because there are more of them than usual and boy, are they loud. They travel in packs because they have an aversion to sitting next to Bl–er, African American people. Their children cry, whine and ask a multitude of questions in high pitched voices that pierce the air of the otherwise quiet train.
For some reason,despite the obvious disturbance of peace, the children are not shushed. The adults aren’t much better. They crowd around the doors, making it difficult for other passengers to board and depart. Clad in New Balances and khakis, they conduct loud conversations about whatever mundane Anglo-Saxon subject that piques their interest.
If there’s a sporting event, the train becomes unbearably packed with cherry hued people, clad in jerseys, shouting across the car and smelling of cheap overpriced beer.
I share a knowing look with another African American passenger. The caucasoid shenanigans prove to be too much.
I wonder what they could be thinking. What possesses them to take up so much space? Could one be writing a writing a racist tone deaf editorial about the Bl–African American passengers?
Who knows, I just want them to shut up, make their kids sit down and ride the train. Oh and stop gentrifying the city while simultaneously making it difficult for MARTA to expand because they’re scared a ni–African American is going to ride the bus into the sunset with their flat screen television.
I wonder how John F. Kennedy would feel if he were riding MARTA in 2017?