Friday night in a small midwestern town – I go with a group of artists and professors to a late night dessert place. As we walk past a group of white men standing in the entry way to the place, we overhear them talking to us, saying that my companions, who are all white, must be liberals from the college, not regular “townies,” to be hanging out with a “nigger.” Everyone in my group acts as though they did not hear a word of this conversation. Even when I call attention to the comments, no one responds. It’s like I am not only not talking, but suddenly, to them, I am not there. I am invisible. For my colleagues, racism expressed in everyday encounters – this is our second such experience together – is only an unpleasantness to be avoided, not something to be confronted or challenged. It is just something negative disrupting the good time, better to not notice and pretend it’s not there.