I can probably read him right back under the rock he crawled out from. Instead, I look at him, as I hold a wad of dollar bills, and say, “I was told there’d be a buffet.” He looks taken aback for a moment. I know it’s a double, or maybe a triple, privilege. I am a visitor, not an inmate. I am white. I am educated. I am not proud that I sometimes act this way, inserting humor where it clearly doesn’t belong.