KC

Kansas City Missouri.  What's going on here?   Is there something I am missing?  My family and I went there for a Ben Harper concert this past weekend.   It took place at Crossroads Grinder.  For me, this was a terrible venue, but it was an excellent concert.  Ben Harper and his warm-up group, the Revolution were superb.  Ben Harper, Ben Harper, Ben Harper...what can I say, except Genius.

Kansas City, on the other hand, appears to be a big plantation city.  The downtown is completely devoid of black folk.  I felt lonely.  I am sixty-six years old and I felt lonely for my people in Kansas City Missouri.  I am shocked at the way downtown KC has restructured itself to be urban white.  The Negroes who work in the city are slow moving and placid.  I stayed at the Hyatt Regency.  They screwed up my room reservations.  I was pissed, but I conformed.  The guests and staff were nice enough. 

When my family and I visited Crown Center, we saw a miniscule of black sisters and brothers.  I was frankly, appalled.  The shopkeepers were mostly okay, even though my family and I were followed by security when we shopped in the Crayola store.  The sales people there were nervous and seemed uncertain when I wanted to exchange a pack of crayons for a larger more expensive pack of crayons.  My granddaughter who is almost two,  still needs the jumbo size of crayon.  I found a sixteen count crayon in jumbo and skylight colors.  Boy was I excited.  I have never landed upon this many jumbo crayons and in a great colors, too.  I called out to my husband to wait, but he had already checked out.  I hurried to the checkout counter and pulled out my money to purchase the sixteen count crayons.  My husband, who is a cheapskate by nature, asked the saleslady if he could exchange the regular eight pack that he had just purchased, along with some very nice coloring and activity books.  The saleslady appeared confused and turned to ask, who I guessed was her supervisor.  It was then that I noticed the security guard, looking fierce and ready to draw what I then saw was his gun.  I could have cried. I told the dumb clerk that it was okay and that I would pay for the new found crayons separately.  It was no need to void a ticket and retrace the transaction.  The smugly stupid supervisor smiled and the guard relaxed.  All of us smiled and somehow as if in a conspiracy, we made my thrifty husband the fool.  I wanted to protest, but could not muster up the strength.  After all, I was on a weekend vacation.  I wanted a time-out too.  America, I am so tired of you.  I am so embarrassed too.  I turned immediately into a complacent slave. I did not want to cause trouble.  I'll go to my grave regretting this. 

Kansas City Missouri did this to me, again. Why?  Why are there no black people in downtown Kansas City Missouri?   Why did Crossroads want to check my purse twice?  Why were we not told to go to another  line to enter the concert after it was determined that we had all the right credentials?   The white folk just ahead of us were told.  We evidently were invisible.  How insulting! Why was I, a sixty-six year old black lady, asked to provide identification showing proof of drinking age? Things are strange in Kansas City Missouri.  The black folk have given up on their city.  They even walk and act like it.  They do walk and act slowly.  They might as well shuffle.