Starbucks will close its doors on May 29th for “racial-bias education” after two black men were arrested for waiting on a friend before they ordered a $4 dollar cup of coffee. As they were being handcuffed and lead out of the store, they feared for their lives. I fear for their lives too. But not just at Starbucks. I fear for them pretty much everywhere in America.

I’m racist. You know how I know I’m racist? I’m American.

If you were raised in America, you’re racist. It’s not the fault of Starbucks. It’s not the fault of the manager who called the cops. It’s not the fault of the cops who made the arrest. It’s our fault, all of us. We don’t talk about the epidemic of racism, we don’t talk about the letter Coretta Scott King wrote as a warning to the future about our current Attorney General, we don’t talk about the Birther-In-Chief, so nothing changes.

I’ll bet a customer in the restaurant complained to the manager which is why she called the cops. Is it the customer’s fault? Is the customer always right?

Before we judge, let me tell you a story about what happened to me last summer at Max’s Deli when there was a homeless guy who decided to park himself at a table in front of our restaurant.

He was big. He was dirty. He was smelly. He was fat.

I’m not calling him fat to get away with a cheap shot at body shaming. I’m telling you this because he would let his shirt ride up like he was wearing a baby-tee. But it wasn’t sexy midriff. It was dirty gut. He was there first thing in the morning when I got to work at 6:47AM. This was my roll-in time. It was a boss decision. I felt like if I was the first one in the door, it would set the right tone. The restaurant business is a blizzard of problems. But if everyone is on time, then you can keep the tone light and the vibe buoyant.

This is important because I was already feeling underwater. I didn’t know what to do, so I picked up the phone to call the police. Then I stopped myself. I took a breath. I poured myself a cup of coffee. I slowed down and decided to walk back outside.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Gregor. Are you hungry? Can I buy you a bagel?”

“An everything bagel with chive cream cheese,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Can you bring me the coffee without cream or sugar,” he said. “I prefer doing it myself.”

“Sure,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Gerard,” he said.

“Ok Gerard,” I said. “I’ll be right back. Do you want your bagel toasted?”

“Yes please.”

A few hours later I was working the cash register when Regina from Jenny Craig came storming in the door.

“Did you feed the homeless guy?” she screamed at me. She might as well have been screaming at the room. Everyone turned around to look.

“His name is Gerard,” I said.

“I don’t give a fuck what his name is,” she said. “I’m trying to get rid of him and you’re rolling out the welcome mat. Where’s the manager?”

“I’m the manager,” I said.

“Where’s the owner?” she said.

“I’m the owner,” I said.

“Then you’re the dumbest fucking businessman in America,” she said. “I called the cops. I’m calling the cops again. Do not feed the homeless guy. You’re not a social worker. You’re a businessman. Grow a pair.”

She stormed out. It was her thing, dramatic entrances and exits. I could feel my ears burning. I was humiliated. The woman in line who was being nice to me before the altercation suddenly refused to make eye contact. She gave me the phone number for her frequent diner points, then shook her head.

Norman, an early bird regular, was next in line.

“He’s making you look bad,” Norman said.

“I’m trying to do the right thing,” I said.

“That’s your first mistake,” he said. “It’s not your job to do the right thing. It’s your job to keep your customers happy, make payroll and keep bums off your picnic tables. Call the police.”

I went back to my office. I sat down with myself. I could feel the sting of looking like an amateur. I stared into my cup of coffee looking for answers in the black crystal ball of caffeine. I decided to call the police.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m having an issue at Max’s Deli. Is there a social worker on staff?”

I played phone tag with the social worker. I told my night staff to buy Gerard dinner and treat him like any other customer, with respect. This went on for a couple weeks, while customers rolled their eyes and my staff scratched their heads. Then one morning, Gerard was gone. A few days later, I walked into Jenny Craig with bagels for Regina. I told her I was sorry we had words. She accepted my apology.

“The police told me you called the social worker,” she said. “I’m not sure if they found him a halfway house or he just moved on. But I think we did the right thing. I’m glad it worked out.”

“I’m glad it worked out too,” I said. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” I asked.

“Can you bring me the coffee without cream or sugar,” she said. “I prefer doing it myself.”

Turns out, beggars are the biggest choosers.

Listen.

If I was at Starbucks when the cops arrived, do you know what I would have done? I would have bought everyone a cup of coffee: the two black guys, all the cops, everyone in the store, including everyone who works there. Then we’d all have a cup of coffee with nothing better to do than sit around. And talk.

I know it’s unusual, reaching into your pocket. But I think this is largely the problem. Lady Liberty cashed a check, it came back marked insufficient funds and nobody wants to pick up the tab.

This is our debt. This is our tab. There’s a price to pay for generations of looking the other way. Funny enough, there are few things more satisfying than picking up the tab. I don’t know when I switched to this point of view, but once it happened, everything changed.

I don’t judge the guy who pressured the manager to call the cops. He’s us, blindly stumbling through the world without a second thought for why he believes what he believes. It’s not what we believe that counts. It’s why we believe what we believe. Until you confront the racism you were taught by well intended people who loved you but were wrong, you’re punishing the world.

Own it.

Starbucks did the right thing. They didn’t fire the manager. Even though I’m starting to hear the beginnings of spin: “She left the company.” I think it’s unfortunate. She screwed up. But she’s us and we’re all screwed up. If I learned anything pouring coffee at Max’s Deli it’s this: you must surround yourself with people who believe in you, who let you take your wins without letting your wins go to your head, who let you take your losses without letting your losses define you.

At the end of the shift, at the end of the day, I don’t know much but I do know this, I take my coffee like I take my social justice, with a burnt aftertaste.