They didn’t. I think that sums it up, but I’ll explain.
At the start of the pandemic, I was forced to return to my lake house in Connecticut. My dad said that staying in New York City was below us, financially and geographically (it’s right at sea level). It was awful having to deal with the breezes coming up from the Long Island Sound, and my sister downstairs having to learn from the private tutor we had flown in since online learning just wasn’t cutting it.
I wasn’t completely ignorant, and I watched the news every day. I like being informed on what is happening in the world, but at that time I didn’t really care — it wasn’t like anyone I knew was affected by the virus. That being said, it was tough, but we were slowly getting accustomed to our new normal when, at the start of the summer, shit hit the fan again. Staffers at Bon Appétit, a food and lifestyle magazine for people who spend more than $50 dollars on a single jar of cinnamon, suddenly left the magazine because of race stuff, and they left me alone, without any of their comforting weekly videos. (Is my love of Bon Appétit a bit emasculating? Maybe a bit, but don’t yuck my yum or my dad will sue you into oblivion.)
I know some protests happened, but they affected me about as much as COVID did — it was a minor inconvenience. There were a couple of BLM posters on a couple of the yachts, but nothing really happened to me or anyone I know. I see the protests the same way I see a presidential visit to NYC: annoying, will definitely disrupt traffic and cause mayhem for a couple of days, but then I will move on. Personally, I already know that I’ll be working at my dad’s firm right after college and make a high six-figure salary in fewer than five years, so people of color can do whatever the fuck they want because it won’t affect me.
Your Friendly Neighborhood Econ Frat Bro is currently a second-year in The College from Horace Mann.