I've been reading the "Left Behind" series for the past couple weeks. I don't know if I'm really enjoying them anymore, but I have read 7 books in the series so far. I just want to get on with it.
I went to the local library to pick up installments # 8 and 9. I decided to peruse the shelves to see what else the library had to offer. As I was standing around in the "FIC C" section, a librarian asked "are you looking for anything in particular?" I said "no, I'm just browsing." She quickly ran to the main desk and grabbed a pamphlet, saying "we have a large collection of African American fiction here. Here are some titles you might enjoy."
I already had 2 other books in my hand, and neither of them was "african american fiction". Yes, I was curious to know if E.J. Dickey had a new book out, but daggone it.....just 'cuz I'm black doesn't mean I was there for that. Ugh.
It was almost 9:00pm and since there aren't too many Black folks in town to begin with, I didn't want to catch an attitude and say something like "why do you assume that I'm interested in African American novels?" even though that's what I was thinking. I should have asked her for a treatise by Justice Cardozo just to flip her wig a little. She probably thought she was being helpful, but I didn't feel "helped". I felt stereotyped. Truth is, maybe most of the "folks" in the neighborhood don't go to the library (at least I haven't seen too many in there)...and maybe they only go for the E. Lynn Harris books....but either way, she assumed too much.
