One time, I went to an art show to support some friends who were doing poetry at the show about a year and half ago. Anyways, we ran into this white racist that kept going on and on about how all Asians and Africans were mongrels and how it was sad that blue eyes were fading away. One of my friends took offensive to this and started challenging her on it and she just went to him and said, "If you don't like it, you can just call me Nazi Lady." Anyways, when my friends were up doing poetry, she just kept jeering them but was eventually thrown out. She was upset by this and when she went to the jacket rack to get her coat, she took mine by accident.

Now I am 5'5 130 and had an extra small London Fog pea coat. This woman was about a size 14 but for some reason decided to take my jacket which wasn't even close to her size and didn't even looking like hers. I think she had some sort of brownish jacket that night. Anyways, she managed to walk about a block and half before realizing the jacket isn't hers and left it a restaurant's lost and found but I didn't find out about that until the next day when she responded to an email of mine asking where my jacket was. I found my jacket at the lost and found but I never saw the woman again. I did write a poem about this incident and have performed it many times.

I have a "words do not convey the reality of what I experienced" story which comes to mind and is about the same thing.

I drove delivery in college and my store covered the projects. The city planners didn't want a central ghetto so there were a few projects scattered around our delivery area which covered most of the city and all the drunk college kids who tipped the best. So delivering to the ghetto kinda sucked but was just something you did so you could get frat boy tips when the football team played.

I got assigned a route to a house in a project that I knew had a roach problem. It was close, it'd be quick even if I didn't get tipped I'd be back soon and get a better route. I got there and was greeted by a large black woman in a sleeveless tshirt who apparently didn't know her husband ordered a pizza. She invites me in, I'm not supposed to go into people's houses but she's coercive and it seems like the only way get paid. She wasn't expecting company or she might've dressed up, her huge fifty year old tits are hanging out of the side of her mutilated shirt. There are roaches everywhere, I expected that since I've seen them before at this project. She leads me to her husband who's watching tv in a recliner in the living room. She has to assume he ordered pizza so she asks him and he respond with something that sounds vaguely like English. This dude is like somehow competent enough to order a pizza and watch baseball in a recliner and that's about it. Also he has cockroaches crawling on him. So the dialogue gets thrown over to me to tell him he owes money, I don't know what the fuck he's trying to say to me since his southern accent and a feebleness that make him indifferent to vermin on his pants garble the exchange so his wife interprets and she's kinda angry about it. I say whatever pizza boys say, don't understand him and she repeats me, kinda yelling at him for wanting pizza, then telling me his response. It's not a long exchange but between the sweaty tits longing for freedom and the half corpse crawling with insects and speaking in some dialect white college kids from the suburbs can't decipher, it was one of the most surreal experiences in my life.