Allergic to Negros

Last night I took the train home after going to this event for my job where I was laughed at by two high school girls for no reason. No. Reason.
I said nothing. Not just because I didn't know them and because they were kids, but because I was tired and didn't have the energy or the attire to whoop their asses adequately.
As I have shared with you, I have moved back to East Point, GA where I grew up from Douglasville, GA, a rural area. And I have found that my defenses are now down, you know, the ones I had built to be able to deal with the ignorance I consistently encountered growing up there.
While in college, I became very conscious and Afro-Centric. From freshman year on I have been essentially masterminding how to save the Black community. But yesterday, as I watched these two girls LAUGHING at me TO MY FACE I thought, What am I doing? I don't even like these people! And then, to the soundtrack of their cackling, I felt ashamed of myself. Embarrassed. Saying that I don't like them is like saying that I don't like myself. No matter what I do for a living, no matter where I live, or where I went to college, they are the stock from which I derived. I am the McDonald's worker with the bad hair weave and she, minus the manners, is me. Not sure if this is a good thing. Not sure if I like it. Just the truth.