Brent Staples has a great essay, Black Men in Public Space, http://facstaff.uww.edu/carlberj/Journal3.htm about how all the white folk assume the black man walking down the street wants to mug them. He whistles Vivaldi to assuage their fears.

I had my own black man in public space last week. I am a middle-aged middle-class white woman. It was 10:00 at night, and I had just gotten into my car after blues dancing at Waid's.

Waid's is in a border area neighborhood. On one side of the street is Seattle University, with an 18-24 year old middle-class clientele. On the other side of the street is The Recovery Center of King County for chemical dependency and grocery stores with bars on the windows.

So, I was just about to check my email before heading out when I heard a man asking a person on the sidewalk for money. I put down the iphone and buckled up, but not before the man knocked on my window.

Did I lower the window?

Yes, dear reader, I did. Because A. I have never felt unsafe in the neighborhood and figured I was just in for a money plea. We were on a well-lit street right next door to a gas station/convenience store. Besides, I was within hailing distance of Waids, and I am good buddies with the security guards who work there. And B. I didn't want to hurt his feelings like all the white people who locked their doors as Brent Staples walked by.

The first thing he said to me was "Don't be scared. I know I'm black and ugly. I'm a 58 year old man, and I'm not going to hurt you."

He said all this self-deprecatingly, backing away from the window, and smiling. I immediately started laughing. It was all just so self-aware. His version of whistling Vivaldi. In between pitching his con, he told me about the white women that run away screaming. He got me so proud not be one of them, I kept listening. A very good con man.

I eventually gave him three dollars though he tried to explain how I had misunderstood how much he needed for an oil change and tried to make me feel guilty for not giving him the whole amount. He did, in fact, make me feel guilty, which I just hate. But, that's his job.

There are a lot of black men in this neighborhood. Most of them are waiting for the bus, talking with their friends. In other words, minding their own business in their neighborhood. I hope they don't have to whistle Vivaldi just so I can walk down the street.