These words ruined my night. I just spent the last few hours laughing and smiling with incredible company. We bonded over personal stories and we broke bread together. I was with my extended work family and fellow colleagues who fight for social justice and change. Wine glasses were never left empty and the buzz in the room never wavered. I was in a fancy restaurant doing fancy things. But naturally I wondered about the people working there. Were the “busboys” serving our hors d’oeuvres and main meals? (I think they were.) Will they fully and equally participate in the tips from what I’m sure is a hefty bill? (I’m afraid I don’t think they will) I worked in a restaurant in college and I remember the times when I became a server for the day. You see, I worked in the kitchen as an expediter. Not the job I applied to, but the one I was given. I knew the money was in the front of the house and that’s where I wanted to work. But this was a fancy restaurant in New Brunswick and none of the servers looked like me. Hell, no one in the front of the house looked like me. I admit that I don’t know the stories of the workers I saw today and I don’t know if this restaurant is a good or bad employer. I do know that the words on the door a few feet away from the entrance just bothered me. I know business owners and customers treat different people differently. For some, they have to work through special doors and only in dedicated spaces. For others, the full run of the house. I guess these feelings are just a part of me. I guess I just can’t separate things. I can’t just have a good time. I can’t just ignore or simply not see what’s in front of me. I can’t. And I won’t.