An open letter to the man who yelled a slur at me on the street

Dear Sir,

You might not remember me. I would be surprised if you did, honestly, because I do not think I am that memorable. To you I was just another face in the crowd. Another body in a sea of other bodies that likely meant nothing to you.

But I remember you.

I remember you, unfortunately, because the word you yelled stayed with me for the rest of my day. It swam around in my head while I attempted to focus at work. It stuck to me while I took the bus home, like something on the bottom of my shoe. It clung to my skin even after a longer-than-usual shower. That word you yelled that day on the street ring in my ears even as I lay in my bed.

"Taxi."

Two syllables were all it took for you to completely alter my day, and you did it without a thought.

You called me a taxi, so you must think you know a lot about me. But the truth is, I know more about you from that one interaction then you will ever know about me. Perhaps your assumptions about me were based on my appearance, but everything I know about you is based on action. One action, a simple action, but a significant action nonetheless. I know that you are the type of person who doesn't care about his own appearance because you're willing to wildly wave in traffic just to call another person a "taxi." And you clearly don't care about other people, because you didn't even look back at how I reacted as you got into the yellow car that picked you up.

I can speculate all day about why you would call me a taxi, but the truth is I'll never know. That's probably because I cannot get in the mind of someone who finds it necessary to call random people names. It might make you feel stronger than me, or better than me. Or maybe it's because deep down inside, you have struggles of your own. Maybe, deep down inside, you know that you are a taxi. And you hate yourself for it.

You may not actually be a taxi yourself. I can never know that. But I do know that someone you love is a taxi. Someone you care about will one day tell you that they are a taxi, and every instance that you've ever yelled "taxi" will come rushing back to you. Then, you will have to deal with your words, just like I had to deal with them the day you yelled at me.

While your voice did damage me, that damage was temporary. I genuinely feel stronger today because of it. I am stronger, because despite what you called me, I am even more firm in my identity as a human being. I can look in the mirror and see that I am not yellow, nor do I have wheels, or a muffler, or four doors. I do not have any doors for that matter. I am not a stupid, ugly taxi. I am a stupid, ugly

Human.

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