Where are you from?

It happens almost every time I get in a cab. “Where are you from?”

The Indian cab driver stares at me through the rear view mirror. “You look Indian,” he says. “Yeah, a lot of cabbies tell me that. I’m not from India,”  I say. “You don’t look like an American,” he says.

I let out a deep sigh. I really should ignore this guy. I’m not in the mood to put up with him. But it’s been a long day…I’m tired and irritable.

“Tell me sir. What does an American look like?”

He pauses for a moment ….and then he says it, “Blonde hair and blue eyes.”

I get mad.

Continue reading my piece and see my multimedia essay for Chicago public radio WBEZ.

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