Respect on the Run: A Downtown Norfolk Pickup That Tested My Cool

The “Chicken Incident”: Why I Stopped Hustling for Pennies

You want to know why I’m up late, eyes burning, building 757 Biz Click? You want to know why I push so hard to teach you guys about online business?

It’s not just about the money. It’s about the respect.

Tonight, I was reminded exactly why we need to own our own stuff. I had a pickup in downtown Norfolk—Granby Street. If you know, you know: the parking is a nightmare, tow trucks are circling like vultures, and the stress is high. But I’m a father, and my son is in private school. I do what I have to do.

But tonight, I hit a breaking point.

“Don’t Steal My Food, Black Man”

I walked into a chicken joint to grab an order. Standard procedure. I’m polite, I say hello, I show the phone. The woman behind the counter—pretty sure she was the owner—was already giving me the look. You know the one. She was uneasy, looking at me like I didn’t belong there.

I show her the name. I ask for the order.

She hands me the bag—20 Korean wings. As she hands it over, I press “Confirm” on the app right in front of her face. I always do this. It’s the “trust dance” we have to do.

But she barks at me: “Press confirm.”

I just did. I showed her. But in her eyes, I wasn’t a professional doing a job. I was a risk. I felt it in my bones. Her vibe screamed, “Don’t steal my food, Black man.”

I walked out, disgusted but professional. Twenty seconds later, I’m in my car, and my phone rings. It’s her.

“You didn’t press confirm. You took the food.”

I saw red. I hung up, called her back, and asked her the question nobody likes to ask but everyone thinks: “Are you racist?”

I’m a 48-year-old Christian man. I treat everyone with respect. I don’t need to steal your chicken wings. But to her, I was just another stereotype.

The Black Guy Steals Fried Chicken Profile 

Here’s the part that hurts—not just as a working man, but as a Christian:

Before you walk into the restaurant they have you  pictured and framed. They think they know exactly who you are. 

Sometimes it feels like people are waiting for me to mess up. Like they’ve already decided I’m guilty before I do anything.

Like I’ve got a stamp on my forehead that says:
“Watch him—he steals.”

I even have a sense of humor about life, but this wasn’t funny.

People will joke like, “Oh it’s chicken and he’s Black—he’s going to eat it.”
No ma’am. I am good. Yes it smells good. If I like enough I will come back and buy some. And probably bring my family with me. No I am not casing out the joint with my homies. 

Yes, I like chicken like the next person—but I also like integrity. I didn’t pay for that food. It’s not mine. I’ve got manners. And by the grace of God, I’m not starving.

So no—I’m not eating your wings in the parking lot like some cartoon character.

The Stats Don’t Lie: It’s Not Just Me

If you think I’m being sensitive, let me hit you with some real numbers. I did the research because I wanted to know if I was crazy. I want to give a disclaimer. Yes this is only a part of the story not the whole story of gig work. But I have to share this delivery pickup story because it is apart of the story.

• We Are Overrepresented: Black and Latinx workers make up 42% of the gig economy workforce (apps like Uber/DoorDash), even though we are less than 29% of the overall workforce. We are carrying this industry on our backs.
• The Disrespect is Real: Non-white gig workers are significantly more likely to report feeling unsafe or experiencing “troubling encounters” while working.
• The Pay Gap: Studies have shown that racial bias in customer ratings can actually lower the earnings of Black men in the gig economy compared to white men.

We are out here putting miles on our cars, risking our safety, and dealing with people who look down on us—all for an algorithm that doesn’t care if we pay our bills or not.

Why I’m Building Something Bigger

This is where the “Realist Mentor” comes in.

Gig work is a trap. It’s Active Income—trading your time (and your dignity) for money. As long as you are working for an app, you are subject to the whims of a restaurant owner having a bad day or a customer who judges you before you even say hello.

Online Business is different.

When you build an affiliate marketing site, or create digital content, or use AI to generate leads:

• The Internet is Colorblind: The algorithm doesn’t care what you look like. It cares if your content is good.
• You Own the Asset: No one can call you and accuse you of stealing. You are the owner.
• You Scale Your Time: I want to make money while I sleep so I never have to argue about chicken wings again.

Why This Matters More Than One Pickup

This wasn’t just about one restaurant. This was about the bigger picture:

• Working hard and still being judged
• Trying to provide and still being disrespected
• Building something real while people assume the worst about you

And it’s also about why I’m pushing so hard to build online income—because I want my effort to go into assets, not just hours.

I enjoy delivery driving. I really do.

But the disrespect? The assumptions? I will not take it!

So, I finally got home tonight, exhausted. I haven’t had a day off in two weeks. My wife isn’t helping much with the team effort right now, so the weight is on my shoulders.

But tomorrow, I start planning my son’s birthday party.

That’s my “Why.” I want to be the father who can pay for that private Christian school without having to be disrespected on Granby Street. I want to look my son in the eye and show him that his father is a King, not a suspect.

What Are You Going To Do?

Have you ever had a moment like this? A moment where you realized, “I am worth more than this”?

If you’re driving, lifting, or grinding in the gig economy and feeling that lack of respect—use it. Let that anger be your fuel.

Don’t just get mad. Get a business.

Would you like me to help you brainstorm a business idea that gets you out of the driver’s seat and into the owner’s box?

Conclusion: 

If you ever wonder why I’m working so hard to build my online business, it’s simple: I’m tired of being treated like I’m less than. Sometimes it feels like people are judging me before I even open my mouth—because of how I look, my race, or the fact that I’m doing gig work.  

I’ve never had a restaurant call me and claim I didn’t confirm. That was a first.

But what gets me is when I’m already pressing confirm right in front of you, and you still treat me like I’m about to run off like you handed me a suitcase full of gold bars.

Ma’am… it’s wings.