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02 May 2006

Lace and race

I had an interesting experience on Oxford Street this weekend. I decided to make the long, ridiculously expensive trek into the centre of London to have a look around and locate some shops likely to cheer me up with a good dose of retail therapy (mostly looking and not much purchasing, mind you). I wandered into a clothing store which was quite large, although they had managed to squeeze a fairly generous number of clothing racks in filled with the promise of summer which has yet to be found in the grey English skies.

I was making my way towards the back end of the shop, not really taking notice of the other shoppers around me. I was aware of someone standing to my right, looking through the rack of clothes and was about to walk past her, when she hissed, "Don't you touch me!!"

I turned to look at her with a look of complete surprise. I was still a good half metre away from her, and certainly hadn't touched her at all. I apologised and said as much to her. She spat her reply, "Just fuck off, yeah?!" and turned back to the rack of clothes.

At this point the look of surprise had changed into a mixture of complete astonishment, offense and amusement. What I found more disturbing than anything else was the look of pure contempt she gave me, a complete stranger browsing among lacy summer tops.

I few choice replies to her rudeness ran through my head, but in the end I turned away and laughed the incident off. I was only afterwards that I really thought about it and wondered what that woman had been through that made her so vicious towards someone she has never met. Then I surprised myself even more because the first option that popped into my head was race. The woman was black, and was dressed in a traditional head scarf and long sleeves and skirt.

Have I been so conditioned as a South African to see colour difference before anything else, even though I hate that I do it and try not to in every instance? Maybe she was just a b*tch and had a bad day... I felt really bad about it.

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