Today, I was at King Soopers and I decided I would get in line to buy Rockies tickets. I was the only person in line, but I walked through their little rope maze all the way to the front. Just as I was about to reach the counter, a dark-skinned man slid down the counter (he had been off to the left), right in front of me. I stepped back so he could go first, as I could tell that he had just been off to the side filling out paperwork. That's when the trouble started.

The King Soopers employee said, "Sir, he was here first."

He said, "No, I was here first, I borrowed your pen to fill out this paperwork."

"I know, but he came through the line and you slid right in front of him."

"NO. I was here first!"

At this point, I said, "It's really ok, I don't mind; he can go first."

The King Soopers lady said, "Well, he is wiring money, so it's going to take a while."

By this point, he had had enough. "This is ridiculous, you mistreat me every time I come into this store. I spend a lot of money in this store, but you treat me bad...because I am black."

"Sir, don't accuse me of being racist. I'm black. My husband's black."

"No, I am very dark and you are light and you do not respect me!"

This continued for another minute or two, until the store manager came over and stopped it.

I felt bad that I been the straw that broke the camel's back in the situation and I genuinely wanted to learn about this man. I figured he had to be from Africa. I guessed the Ivory Coast or Sudan. So, I said, "Sir, can I ask where you're from?"

He said, "What is your problem?"

"Ummm, oh, I was just curious where you came from..."

"What is your problem?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have a problem. I figured you were from Africa and I really like Africa."

"Africa is a very big place!"

"I know, I have only been to Kenya and Ethiopia, but I really like it"

"Well, I am from Sudan."

After a brief conversation, he told me he was from Southern Sudan. He said he was a professor for eight years, likely before he came here. He had a few scars on his balding head; something in my heart told me he had been through a lot. Come to think of it, he's the oldest Sudanese man I've ever met. There's a reason everyone talks about the Lost BOYS of Sudan--because they are so few men left from the generation aged 30-55. (And most of the Sudanese men that age have not made it to the US, likely)

He shared with me that he came to the US for peace but still feels oppressed sometimes. He said, "no one says it, but I can see it in their body." He talked briefly about our Constitution and how he is equal--he is an American, after all. I told him I was sorry for how things had gone and we agreed that it just wasn't right.

Honestly, I have no idea how that woman felt about him. Was she bad at her job? Yes. Was she racist? I don't know. Maybe everyone was having a bad day. Regardless, he felt like he wasn't welcomed in this country and that made me sad because, well, hasn't a war refugee from Southern Sudan dealt with enough in his life already?