(Note: This story has little or nothing to do with Bill Cosby. Also, there’s no real point to it other than airing my frustration.)

Every once in a while, I have what I like to call a “Bill Cosby Moment.”

Basically, a Bill Cosby moment occurs when a Black person does something so annoying and/or ignorant that I become temporarily fed up with Black people. Unlike an embarrassing nigga moment, which is usually committed by a famous person and inspires shame, BCMs happen during my day-to-day interactions and evoke momentary anger and pessimism. Of course, unlike Dr. Cosby, my anger is quickly chased away by more clear thinking. Still, in the moment, I’m ready to set it off.

Such a moment happened to me on Friday.
Early Friday morning, I was running out of gas and pulled into an area service station. After paying with my debit card, I began to pump my fuel. After a minute or so, the pump stopped functioning and the screen said “Card Reading Error: Please See Attendant.”

I walked into the store and told the cashier what happened. Without looking up from his rap magazine, he screamed out “You don’t have enough money, homie.” Stunned by his rudeness, I responded and the following exchange occurred:

Me: I don’t think that’s the problem, brother.
Him: UNSUFFICIENT FUNDS
Me: The card went through. Plus, I’m sure I can afford some gas
Him: Go to the ATM and see for yourself.
Me: Look. Why don’t you run the card at the register and see if it works?
Him: (louder) UNSUFFICIENT FUNDS. That basically mean you don’t got it.
Me: Well, do me a favor and run it anyway.
Him: I’m busy fam. Get it from the ATM and I’ll help you.

He was so confident that I didn’t have any money that I started to doubt the shit myself. Even worse, there was a White man –based on his clothing he appeared to be a construction worker– standing behind me watching the whole exchange with great interest. When I stepped to the side to go the ATM, I could hear the worker say in a mocking tone “If it ain’t there, it ain’t there. See ya later.”

If I wasn’t a nobody, I’d have sworn that Ashton Kutcher was about to jump out from behind the counter. Instead I was just pissed. Fortunately, I resisted the urge to smack both of them, instead opting to return to the line and insist that he run the card.

Me: I don’t need to check the ATM. Just run it.
Him: (chuckling) Aight, dog. What kind of gas you want.
Me: 93
Him: You sure? That’s expensive.
Me: Yeah, I think I can swing it.

Of course, the card went through –if it hadn’t, I’d have bigger problems than the jerk behind the counter—and he directed me back to the pump. Of course, I felt the need to point out to him that he was wrong.

Me: You know that’s the same card that I used outside. There was money on it.
Him: Oh, for real? Yeah, you probably right. The pumps haven’t been working all week. This happens a lot.

At this point, I wanted to ask why he gave me such a hard time if he knew the damn pumps weren’t working. I also wanted to point out the racial dynamics in play that he didn’t recognize or chose to ignore. Lastly, the jerk in me wanted to tell him that “insufficient funds” was the phrase for which he was likely searching. Each of these moves, however, would have been invoked a host of race and class dynamics that I couldn’t handle before my morning coffee. Instead, I decided to cut my losses and continue on my journey.