DS
Danielle Shaheen
Jan 25, 2026
I didn’t expect a routine stop at a fast-food restaurant to turn into a moment that stayed with me, but that’s exactly what happened one afternoon at a Subway. I walked in thinking about my order and what I still had to do that day, not prepared for the tension that would follow. What stood out immediately wasn’t anything loud or obvious—it was subtle, uncomfortable, and impossible to ignore once I felt it.
From the start of the interaction, Treys tone toward me felt different. His responses were short and sharp, his body language closed off. When I asked simple questions about the menu, he reacted with impatience, as if I were inconveniencing him. At first, I tried to brush it off. Everyone has bad days, and I didn’t want to assume the worst. But as I watched him interact with other customers, the difference became clearer. He was noticeably more polite and relaxed with them, offering smiles and conversation that I never received.
The moment that really stuck with me wasn’t one single comment, but the accumulation of small actions—eye rolls, dismissive answers, and a general lack of respect. None of it was explicit, which almost made it harder to process. I found myself questioning whether I was overthinking things, even though my instincts told me something wasn’t right. That self-doubt is one of the most frustrating parts of experiencing racism in subtle forms—it forces you to second-guess your own reality.
As the interaction continued, I felt a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and anger. I wasn’t asking for special treatment, just the same basic level of respect given to everyone else in the room. Standing there, I became acutely aware of how powerless the situation made me feel. Speaking up felt risky, but staying silent felt just as heavy. In the end, I chose to leave as soon as I could, carrying more than just a sandwich with me.
What stayed with me afterward was the realization that moments like this don’t exist in isolation. They add up. Even when they seem small, they remind you that discrimination doesn’t always announce itself loudly—it often hides in everyday interactions. That experience made me more aware of how important empathy and accountability are, especially in customer-facing roles where people should feel welcome, not judged.
Looking back, I wish the encounter had gone differently, but I also recognize its value in shaping how I see the world. It reinforced my belief that calling out unfair treatment, even quietly by acknowledging it within yourself, matters. Everyone deserves to move through everyday spaces without feeling diminished, and that’s something I carry with me long after that visit.