It was a beautiful August morning. The sun was brightly shining on my face while my mom drove the U-haul truck to a warehouse in Forest City, north Carolina. As my mom drove down the streets of Forest City, I looked out the window and began to realize that the mixture of people was no longer a mixture; there was only white.
When we arrived at the warehouse, I had to peel my arm off the side of the hot door like a burnt sausage off a skillet. There were not many cars in the parking lot, and I could see the heat waves. As we walked up the boiling pavement, it felt like we were walking through a scorching desert. When we walked into the warehouse, there was a variety of electronic appliances to choose from, and about three-fourths of them were black .
About every 15 minutes, a salesperson followed us around and asked if we needed help, as if we were retarded or ex-cons. My mom really did not like it when a salespersons constantly ask if we need help; she feels if she needs their help, she’ll ask for it. Finally, after about two and a half boring hours of looking for any scratches or marks on the dryers and refrigerators that might fit best in our new apartment, my mother picked a dryer and refrigerator that were just right. She then let the salesperson know, and he replied with a smile, “All right, you can pick up your items in the back in about five minutes.” My mom said, “Thank you,” in a nice, friendly voice and walked across the scorched pavement to drive the truck to the back.
When we got to the back, there were about three open spaces for picking up appliances. My mom chose the first parking spot she saw, which was by a white family’s car. Then she showed the employees the receipt for the appliances she had just bought. They said, “All right, we’ll be with you in just a minute.” While I waited for my mom, I looked over and smiled at the white lady in the next car, but instead of smiling back like a nice young woman, she frowned at me like I had something...