I recently visited Detroit, MI to pitch a rather large automaker a bit of Anvil’s search engine marketing magic. Being a Portland-based SEM agency, this was a huge opportunity for us. Despite the economy, we still had a good meeting and I wanted to celebrate on my last night in Motown. I stopped by the Hard Rock Cafe for a drink, then a local bar & grill in search of some food and local flavor.

I happened to enter the bar side of a southern-style BBQ restaurant, Sweetwater’s, and struck up conversation with 3 locals that were waiting to head to the Mason Jennings concert across the street at St. Andrews. The young couple of the trio were interested in moving out West, so I naturally sold Portland as the land of opportunity. After a few minutes and half a beer, they invited me to join them at the concert on their extra ticket.

I accepted and ran back to the hotel to change and returned to the concert. On my way back, I spoke briefly with my father, who, having been there years ago as an architect on the RenCen, encouraged me to “be safe” and not hang around in the Detroit streets after hours. Having grown up in Seattle, and gone to school in the inner-city, where I was a minority, I shrugged off the warning.

I headed into the Mason Jennings concert, where Jack Johnson’s own Zack Gill was towards the end of his solo opening set, accordion in hand. Not being Jack’s biggest fan, I was unfamiliar with his label, keyboardist and the scene in general.  Good thing, as I was easily blown away by the talented artists and surprisingly mellow college crowd.

When the concert ended, the trio from earlier in the evening and I agreed to head out for a bite to eat. On the way out the door, I chatted up a few of the local girls waiting to get into St. Andrews, as it turns into a dance club at night.  Considering I’d already thrown caution to the wind after my dad’s warning about Detroit nightlife, I wasn’t let down by the friendliness of the small crowd. I did notice, however, that the white trio with seemed somewhat awkward.

Due to our level of hunger, we elected to head back to Sweetwater’s for dinner. This time when we entered the bar, it was inescapable to notice we were the only white people in there.  Not being the first time I’ve been in that situation, I shrugged it off and we headed to the restaurant side to be seated. Indeed, we were the only white faces in a sea of blackness.

Almost immediately, the trio I was with started acting strangely.  The two guys with me were bantering awkwardly as we ordered beers. While I talked with the waitress, I noticed their eyes darting about nervously. Once it was just the four of us, they really started getting wigged out.  Randomly, the guys started talking loudly about “fried chicken” and “watermelon.”

The situation did not feel right to me, so I tried to change the subject. It didn’t help.  After another 10 minutes or so, I decided I’d had enough.  I didn’t sweat being a white face in a black restaurant, but I was bothered by the fact that the guys with me would say inappropriate or strange comments that would be taken wrongly (or rightly) by the patrons and would result in a hospital visit.

In less than 15 minutes after we arrived and ordered, I stood up, threw down my remaining few bucks on the table and politely excused myself. I told them I didn’t feel comfortable with the conversation and would be heading back to the hotel. I felt badly when I saw our waitress with my burger, but I didn’t have money to pay for it and felt the need to leave regardless.  I doubt I’ll see or hear from the couple that was interested in starting a new life in Portland, and I don’t much care.

My cohorts clearly didn’t have a similar upbringing as I, or even had negative experiences that altered their view of skin color. Regardless, I was not accustomed to the level of bigotry and racism I experienced in Detroit, especially from a couple of white folks.  I won’t forget how forgiving the patrons and waitstaff at Sweetwater were about our group of guests, and hope to get back there for a burger sometime.