Here's a tip: Think before you insult

I'm not important enough to warrant a beer summit. But I did get a bottle of water out of the deal.

Last week, as the rest of the country tried to forget the unpleasant confrontation between Harvard Prof. Henry Louis Gates and Cambridge police officer James Crowley, I had my own Gates-Crowley moment.

I went to Fridley to interview the president of a large manufacturing company. I arrived a few minutes before noon and told the receptionist at the front desk I was looking for the president's executive assistant.

"Oh. Are you delivering food?" she asked.

Oh, no, she didn't!

It wasn't the first time I was mistaken for a Chinese food delivery guy. In college, I had arrived at my girlfriend's dorm with dinner and the front desk dude assumed just that. I was embarrassed, to be sure, but let it go. That's the burden of being a Chinese-American with a penchant for baseball caps, jeans and takeout food.

Yet the receptionist's inquiry stunned me. I was wearing a dress shirt, black slacks and black dress shoes. True, I was sporting a backpack and sunglasses, but how many food delivery guys whip out kung pao chicken from a Gap bag?

After realizing her error, the receptionist offered a rather clumsy explanation. "I only asked because [the executive assistant] always orders food," she said.

Nice try, lady. Someone's not getting a Christmas card this year.

Maybe I'm being too harsh. At least she didn't speak extra slowly and offer a tip.

As I drove back to the office, chugging the bottle of water the company had given me, I chuckled to myself. I wasn't too upset. The receptionist seemed way more embarrassed than I was.

But then I told the story to friends and colleagues. I expected them to laugh and sympathize. Instead they offered several explanations, everything except what seemed obvious to me.

It was my backpack. It was my sunglasses. It was my age. It was Elvis.

The backpack defense seemed particularly popular so I considered it. OK, maybe -- maybe -- I could buy that. But the receptionist didn't ask if I was delivering just anything. She asked if I was delivering food. Not documents, not packages, not flowers, but food.

Worse yet, people offered me tips on how I could avoid this problem in the future, as if I was somehow to blame. Wear a jacket. Carry a briefcase. Walk differently.

Walk differently? I wasn't aware that I walked like a deliveryman. I'm not even sure how a deliveryman walks. Just to be safe, maybe I should don a tuxedo, speak in a faux British accent and goose-step my way to the front desk.

A close friend did offer some meaningful insight. White people, she said, usually don't initially view things in terms of race, while people of color normally do.

I instantly thought of Gates. Did he overreact? Probably. But most people who aren't black don't know what it's like to be a suspected burglar in your own home. That Gates is a famous Harvard professor makes it worse. It didn't matter how many books Gates authored or how many lectures he has given. In the end, he was a black man who ended up in handcuffs.

I may not be a prominent black scholar, but I would like to think that I've accomplished enough things in life to advance beyond food service.

Around 10 that night, I was tired and hungry. I had a sudden craving. I picked up my cell phone and ordered some Chinese.

When the delivery guy came, he was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. No backpack.

Thomas Lee • 612-673-7744