So last night I was meeting a couple of friends for drinks in Brooklyn, which is always a dicey situation because I have no idea where the hell anything is in that borough and am reliant on cab drivers or bad directions from the subway to get to my destination. (Those of you from out of town should know that Brooklyn is laid out completely illogically, with bizarre and unpronounceable road names rather than an orderly set of numbered streets and avenues. There is also, excepting for a couple of bridges and a place that is famous for cheesecake, a distinct lack of local landmarks by which one might orient oneself.) Because of the sweltering heat and a recent bounty that fell into my lap via the good offices of the New York State Lottery Commission, Scratch-Off Card division, I felt both sweaty and flush enough to take a taxi. This was my first mistake.
As I've said, I have no clue about where things are in Brooklyn, but it soon became clear that my driver was even more clueless. Once we reached a point where even I knew that we had completely overshot my destination, I told him to let me off on the corner, tipped him more than charitably considering his ineptitude, and ventured out into the darkness of Kings County.
Undaunted, I wandered through the streets, seeking the aid of anyone who might help me reach my meeting place. Normally I'm disinclined to ask for directions, but I am from New York, and there was no way I was going to let Brooklyn defeat me. I came upon an African-American woman in her late forties who was walking a large dog. With a big, friendly smile on my face, I inquired if she might help point me toward where I needed to go. She did not respond. I politely repeated myself.
"Don't approach me and don't address me," she said. "You're not welcome in this neighborhood."
I was a little stunned, but I did my best to be understanding. Perhaps I was out of place. I mean, I guess if that were where I lived and I saw some fat, sweaty WOP walking around aimlessly, I might suspect that he was looking for drugs or something.
Which was an ironic supposition on my part, because not two seconds later, I saw a gentleman who was actually selling them. He passed a glassine envelope through the window of a car and was handed a large stack of bills. I waited the appropriate amount of time after the transaction had been completed and asked if he could direct me.
"I don't know this part of town at all," he said. "That motherfucker over there," he said, indicating the motherfucker in question by pointing to an SUV idling on the corner, "is supposed to be the one who knows where we are, but he doesn't know anything."
I commiserated on the difficulties of being disoriented in an unfamiliar part of the city and moved along. I finally came upon some sort of manufacturing establishment and asked the gentleman sitting outside on an overturned milk crate if he knew where the location I was already late in arriving to might be. He indicated the he did not habla, but beckoned to a co-worker who was right inside. This fellow was indeed familiar with the neighborhood, and gave me some rather helpful guidance.
"You want to go down four blocks and over three. But go down the four first. You go over three you're gonna go through the projects. White boy like you? They'd eat you alive."
I thanked him and did as he said, but the whole experience rankled and still does. (And God knows I am never going back to Cobble Hill again.) Now, look, I understand that no matter what some wish to believe we still have not reached any sort of racial harmony in this country. I am very familiar with the troubling issues of gentrification and class stratification that plague the city and play out on both municipal and personal levels each day. I could not be more sympathetic about these issues. But here's the thing: I'm Alex Balk. Not only did I vote for Barack Obama, I wrote very compelling blog posts on several different websites encouraging others to do so as well. I read both of Ralph Wiley's collections of essays on race, even though the second one felt kind of phoned in. I sided with Henry Louis Gates over that white cop! Seriously, black people, what else does a guy gotta do to get over with you all? The problem of the 21st Century, thus far, has been the problem of the color line, specifically as it relates to Alex Balk not being able to get directions from black folks. And until we solve that problem, I don't think any of us can honestly say that the promises made by Abraham Lincoln have been kept or that the dreams of our great civil rights leaders have gone undeferred. I think we all need to work a little more closely for the hope and change for which we've been waiting so long. Thank you.
Maybe it was a simple case of your not also having a large dog.
Oh Jesus. Balk. Cobble Hill? You couldn't get yourself to Cobble Hill? I thought you were on your way to Ridgewood or Sunset Park or Breezy Point. Really, young man. Two points off your official New Yorker License to Be card.
BUT, good job finding the only five non-whites in the neighborhood!
AMAZING, right?
I think most people would call that neighborhood "Gowanus." Right? Nevins and 4th Ave? What do we call that? Definitely not Cobble Hill.
Park Slump.
p.s. - Balk saying he's "from New York" as if that (of course) excludes Brooklyn is one of those things that OUTRAGES the average Brooklynite.
yes.
Then why do we Brooklynites refer to Manhattan as "the city"?
I guess to have it both ways, which is fun!
I once knew a guy who referred to the East River as "The West River" because East River is Manhattan-normative. He was only 17% joking.
Ridgewood and Breezy Point are in Queens.
My point exactly.
Balk: Next time this happens, tell the lady with the dog: "Ron Mwangaguhunga declared me an honorary African-American." All should be copacetic thereafter.
This same fog of miasmatic alienation was captured dramatically by Clark Griswold in National Lampoon's Vacation.
Balk, too, had "Honky Lips" inscribed on his quarter panel.
"See that sign down there that says "Rib Tips?"
Maybe it was the unfortunate case of your fly being open on the same night you decided to go commando.
It just popped out! I was trying to put it back.
Seriously, black people, what else does a guy gotta do to get over with you all?
I am not a black people, but my ideas are:
1. Don't take the nasty attitude of one fortyish black woman for archetypal of the attitude of a Brooklyn community, or of African Americans
2. Don't do your best to be understanding of a nasty attitude just because it's attached to one fortyish black woman
Is it wrong-headed of me to think that in many (not all) situations, we all get farther when we take a deep breath and decide not to take it personally?
It's right-headed.
Stop talking crazy people!
Is that "Stop talking crazy, people!"? Or "Stop talking, crazy people!"? (I think it's the first, but you must admit there's some ambiguity.)
YES.
Stop, talking crazy people!
My thoughts almost precisely. I remember living in Jamaica, Queens many moons ago, and I can assure you I was the only white boy for miles around, and I never had trouble getting directions. So, in my experience, there is no race problem in New York (of which Queens is definitely a part!) Problem solved!
They have this thing? On the subway? It hangs on the wall and it's a two-dimensional representation of the city...what do they call it... Oh! A Map! You should look at one of these Maps next time, maybe.
I'm finally starting to love these op-ed satires.
Yeah, you know, I read this and then skimmed and then skimmed again and couldn't decide whether it was supposed to be mockumentary or not. So I just went with responding servicey-ly.
It sounds like the drug dealer was a very nice fellow. He probably would have helped you had that motherfucker over there actually known where he was. So it's really just that lady that hated your Italian ass.
"Don't Approach Me and Don't Address Me" would be a really good name for a blog.
Or my next t-shirt.
Oddly enough, it's also an accurate way to describe my approach to dating!
Some of us don't need directions!
Um? You're addressing me? Obviously you do need the directions fuckwit?
I'm really surprised you didn't get jacked for approaching a drug dealer right after a sale. Do me a favor and don't do that again.
I'm reminded of the scene in "The Color Purple" when Oprah is stuck with the white lady who can't drive.
That wasn't Whoopi?
THE PROBLEM OF CONVEYING TONE ON THE WEB
Living in Boston, I always cheerfully give lost tourists directions because I want them to know that not all Bostonians are unfriendly. And almost 9 times out of 10 I inadvertently end up giving them wrong directions.
So, maybe this also happens to the mean 40ish woman and she just didn't want to be the one responsible for getting you even more lost.
I live in Boston too, and always make a valiant effort to give people directions. But half the time I'm just tempted to tell them to buy a GPS to spare themselves the accidental detour into Southie or Everett.
Another Bostonian here, I give directions for the same reason, and they're probably just as bad. (Interesting though how many people actually let me know how surprised they are that someone from Boston is friendly. Um, thanks?). The worst is when people ask me from their car- I don't drive and thus have no idea how to get places via actual streets. And somehow "cut across the park, go between those buildings and jump the fence" doesn't work for cars. Nor does "take the T".
Was this before or after you posted that video?
"See that dumpster with the body rolled up in a carpet? Take a left there, passed the mumbling crackhead and go past three sets of shoes hanging from the telephone lines. Then, go fuck yahself."
I lurves my borough.
past. ew.
jesus balk, there's a GIANT CLOCK TOWER in that area that you could use to orient yourself, you know!
The Williamsburg Savings Bank Building?
Save the clock tower!
Or, you know, follow all those well dressed people to Brooklyn Industries or American Apparel on on Smith Street.
I once had a black, female security guard at the Met run (and I do mean run) away from me when I tried to ask directions to a particular exhibit.
I am many things, but frightening is not one of them. I remain vexed 17 years after the incident.
And then, in 2005, I went to a bar in Pittsburgh with exclusively black patrons (aside from myself). I ordered a beer and the woman sitting next to me, attired in nurse's scrubs, remarked, "You're pretty. I bet you get all the white pussy."
We then had a 30-minute conversation about white pussy and my relationship to it. Very enjoyable.
The bar later closed because of a series of homicides involving its patrons took place in nearby streets.
I have noticed this problem too, but am glad to know who this "white boy" actually is.
Get a GPS-enabled iPhone and never have to talk to strangers again, duh.
HELLO? Exactly.
I blame the cab driver.
Sounds like you overshot Cobble Hill enough to end up in West Oakland.
Next time, just talk about the lottery and find some common ground.
Ha!
well played.
Balk --
I live on the Upper East Side and I don't doubt for a second that you would get a different reception if you asked someone walking their dog on 57th Street (no one talks to anyone on the street not personally known to them), one of the dudes sitting in a car outside Sofrito selling blow (they aren't from around the UES hood, natch) or a bunch of hispanic dudes delivering pizza from Ultimate Pizza (no habla).
Find a bodega and ask the Persian gentlemen behind the counter.
Words I wish I'd read: "This is part one of an eight-part series."
Me, too.
Me three.
The measure of this great post is how everybody wants to comment on it but is shit scared to do so.
I was just thinking: comment and get eaten alive or send an e-mail to Balk privately?
Leaning heavily towards the latter. It's been a long week. Not sure I could handle anonymous haters today.
Who you callin' anonymous?
p.s. Love Cho!
Oh, but something not remotely controversial: I'm severely directionally challenged.
GET AN IPHONE. GPS is something sent down from the heavens for people like us. It has saved my life (not an exaggeration!) so many times. Especially whilst driving around with cabdrivers who don't know where they're going.
"All we are saying, is give Balk a chance!" Or some decent directions.
And, as I tell my kids, put 400 years of having your very humanity denied versus 40-some years of relative equality. Nope, can't understand why black folks might be a bit touchy when accosted by white people.
Who are you calling touchy?
Why, because she thought Balk was looking to oppress her?
She may well have thought he was visiting the neighborhood to buy drugs. THAT would get the gimlet eye from most people.
Tip, the point is not that Balk might oppress her. I'm pretty sure even complete strangers recognize instinctively that he couldn't scrape up sobriety long enough to do actual malice. The point is that he's white and basic common sense in her experience might lead her to suspect that nothing good comes from interacting with strange white men.
Having recently relocated from Harlem to Brooklyn, I have to say that since moving here I've encountered a lot of TUDE. Seriously, I know exactly how Alex feels.
Laura?
I had a similar experience here in Ottawa recently, at this Haitian (or Congolese? I'm actually not sure. Plantain featured on the menu) BBQ chicken place near where I live. I was basically told, in French, that they had little interest in serving white people. But, I'm South African and my people have a bit of a karmic debt in this area, so my feelings weren't too hurt.
True story. Another Obama-voting/I'm on your side guy I know was walking through the projects between Boreum Hill and Gowanus, chatting on his cellphone. He was asked what time it was by one of the locals, but kept chatting and walking.
Having felt disrespected -- or "dissed" -- said local slapped the fellow across the face, knocking the cellphone out of his hand.
Moral of the story: When someone asks you what time it is, put down the damn cellphone and tell him!
Really? You were like two feet into Brooklyn. The Brooklyn Bridge will take you directly into Cobble Hill. When you get disoriented, head back to Atlantic Ave, if you end up at Target, go the other way. And that's how you do it. Also, those projects are kinda really bad so the guy was nice enough to prevent your beat down.
What are we to make of the fact that in these days, the people of Brooklyn can actually condescend to those of Manhattan-- and get away with it!?
That things are looking up?
You ventured into a strange neighborhood and made no offering. This isn't about race, this is about pie. You should have brought a pie, or fruit basket. A nice gift breaks the ice!
Fool, this post is meaningless. It had nothing to do with race, she didn't give you directions because she is a woman and women fucking suck at navigation in general. And like all women, good luck ever getting her to admit her weakness.
I also fucking hate Brooklyn, but have found that using the new iPhone 3GS with the compassy GPS thing helps. I recently rode my bike to Ft. Tilden beach, and the GPS apparently wanted to give me a tour of the projects. However, as a more "street" person than the nannyfoofoo author, there was no need for concern.
One time, I was walking through Fort Greene - on Dekalb, actually, past the park - with a friend. We were laughing about some joke. An older black woman, passing us by: YOU WHITE JUST LIKE MY MOMMA WAS.
I absolutely heard her correctly. I still have no idea what it means.
You're white like my mother still is. Well, not really as she was German/British and you're, like, whatever.
She said wide. She was calling you fat. She did not want you to think she was calling you phat.
Innneresting. Maybe '. . .and she preferred black men and you're a white man so suck on that?'
Ooooooh Or! Something more sinister! Like '. . .until my black daddy killed her so look the fuck out.'
Huh. Maybe you just really look like her mom.
Maybe it was some kind of inside-out "yo momma" joke?
Blog posts + casting a vote = racial harmony??
Please tell me you're joking.
But one day ... brothers gonna work it out!
I thought his point may have been something like that he was treated like shit for asking directions while white, and what the fuck was that all about, and it wasn't because he was some kind of racist who goes around acting all racist. Or maybe I misunderstood and he meant, as you suppose, that because he had cast a vote and written blog posts, he had been led to believe that society had changed fundamentally and then he was shocked to go for a walk one day and discover that it had not. But I think it's closer to the former, and I get the impression he's not joking.
Blogga please!
Wow! You acted stupidly by getting out of cab without knowing where you are, and have the audacity to make the whole episode about race. Who's playing the race card, now?!
"Don't approach me and don't address me," she said. "You're not welcome in this neighborhood." : Not about race?
I won't bother to address the cab question.
You're pretty much proving his point. That is, if he had any point other than a "Bonfire of the Vanities" parody, which he didn't.
How can you people (not like that!) hate Brooklyn? I've been there exactly once and I fell in love. You jaded, miserable bastards.
I wonder why he fails to mention the ethnicity of the guy that finally gave him directions.
How can I show in a comment that I "get it"? *gnashes teeth, wails*
STRONGLY GET IT
How has nobody made a "you're not familiar with my body of work?" joke yet?
See here.
Hm. HTML difficulties. Let's try again.
As long as you didn't break anyone's radio, man.
Balk, I know you are one of those people who is not happy with the Sex and the City-ification of New York, complete with all of the morons wandering around at all hours thinking there is never any danger.
So why, if you had no clue where you were except that you were deep in the 'hood, did you get out of the friggin taxi??
Maybe he got out of the taxi because doesn't go around equipped with a lot of easy assumptions about what is "deep in the 'hood"? (A guess on my part.)
Wow. I'm white and live in a neighborhood that's about 70% black, Clinton Hill, next to a neighborhood that's about 90% black, Bed-Stuy, and everyone's really nice and friendly. Couldn't say that about my previous, heavily white neighborhood, the Upper West Side. Where the hell were you?
I have personally removed a few white 'friends' from my list of people to chat with, who have insisted there is no more racism, since Obama's election. Whites are pretty much abominable, including my grandmother. That means she was white, for you racially challenged. Why, you might ask? Because they still don't get their privilege, their apartheid, and their fucked up attitudes.
Balk has decided this woman was racist because she didn't help him. Good idea! I will now stop speaking to all whites, based on my experiences with other whites. Because all whites are represented by each, right Balk?
Hey! I thought the Awl was about not being stupid. I guess that was a joke I didn't get.
Correct! The Awl is about not about being stupid and you are kind've not getting a passing grade at the moment. Move On #1365 [newbie!!!], to someplace where warped assumptions equal reality. Also, all whites think Racism is gone? Gack. Gack. Gack. So False. Also, quit with the half-white = Black righteousness crap. At least pretend you understand part of the frustration coming from both sides on this issue. Obama certainly does.