Specific

Down for breakfast in the Hotel Providence, early. Pulling a menu from a basket, the hostess recites, “Party of one?” I look around for my friends. “I am joining a group.” She smiles: “You’re the first. Right this way.” She gestures me toward an empty dining room. “I guess I’ll come back,” I say and head into the lobby to text my friend. After ten minutes and still no answer, hungry, I decide to start without them. They’ll find me. This time the hostess leads me into the bar area where I immediately spot my friends at a corner table. They are nearly done with their breakfast. I turn to the hostess, pointing, throwing her an incredulous look. “Those are my friends!” She says, surprised, “I didn’t know you were together.” I leave her standing with the menu and walk over to the table in a huff. When I tell my friends what happened, they smile sadly, shaking their heads. This is not an uncommon occurrence. I am white. The hostess is white. My friends are black. “Maybe you needed to specify.”