Essay #2 - By Example

Kori Patterson

Sharon Aiken

English 1101

September 23, 2009

Stereotyping

The dictionary defines stereotyping as "A generalization usually exaggerated or oversimplified and often offensive, that is used to describe or distinguish a group." In my own words, stereotyping is judging other people based on how they appear or act. This is done without having any previous knowledge of a person. Although this is usually a negative approach to understanding people, everyone in today's society is guilty of this thought process. When I look back on people that I have stereotyped, one day in particular comes to mind.

As I sat in the crowded waiting room at the medical clinic, I glanced up at the wall. My gaze wandered over to the slow-moving black and white clock. I had been sitting in this same chair for over an hour. My patience was beginning to wear thin as I thought about the numerous other activities I could have been doing right then. I could feel a slight cough building in my chest so I quietly let it out. I figured that I had caught a cold from my sick nephew. However, being that it was mid-December, I had decided to make an appointment to assure myself that what I had wasn’t the flu or something more serious. Suddenly the nurse walked out with her brown clipboard in hand. Everyone in the room looked toward her, anticipating that they were next to see the doctor. Someone's name was called; an elderly man rose from his seat and hobbled after the nurse. There was momentary feeling of disappointment in the room as everyone returned to waiting. Once again I was faced with boredom.

I noticed a tall man sitting diagonal from me. His tattoos captured my attention. They covered his arms, which were exposed by a sleeveless shirt that barely covered his top half. I examined the ink patterns quickly but I am soon forced to look away as I felt the man’s stare turned on me. I immediately thought of this man as a junkie or an alcoholic because of the tattoo designs. I realized that this judgment is somewhat irrational, but it comes suddenly, involuntarily.

Looking around the room once more, I searched for another victim whom I could feed to my thoughts. I stared at a young woman, probably early twenties, with three children. Her tired arms held the youngest child, probably no more than a couple months in age. The oldest sat on the floor playing with his toys. I suspected that he was either six or seven. I realized that this woman must have had the boy at a young age. She must have been seventeen, if not sixteen. A couple of thoughts ran through my mind: she must've not used protection; she must've slept with a lot of guys; I bet her classmates thought she was a slut. My thoughts came to a halt as the nurse entered the room once again. She called another name.

The man sitting next to me rose from his chair. I glanced over at him as he walked away. His khaki slacks matched perfectly with his white button-up shirt. His hair looked like it had just been trimmed not more than a day ago and it was slicked to the side with some gel. I judged him less harshly. He must have been a businessman with a well-paying job who drove an expensive car. He turned the corner and disappeared from my view.

Eventually my name is called and I proceeded with my check up. My cough turned out to be nothing more that a little congestion. The crisp winter breeze hit my face as I emerged from the clinic. I took a couple of steps toward my car when I heard the door to the clinic open behind me. I glanced backwards and saw the tattooed man. I felt a little uneasy--but it was a heavily trafficked street, so I didn’t worry. I reached my car and I turned around to see what the man drove. I watched him as he got his keys and unlocked the car ahead of him. It was a Corvette, less than a year old. Surprised that someone who looked like him drove a Corvette, I decided to complement his car.

“I like your car,” I said with a voice raised high enough that he might hear.

“Thanks,” he replied, looking over at me. “It’s good to have a fast car for my work.”

“What do you do?” I half-expected him to say that he robs banks or is a drug-runner.

He smiled as he climbed into his car. “I’m a heart surgeon.”

He drove away. I stood there for a moment, motionless, stunned.

I suppose that people are not always what they seem.