I am minutes away from spending time with my parents for the first time. My first name is Oliver and that’s all I know. I’m a seventeen-year-old orphan and the white sales associates inside the Memory Room are viewing me with suspicion. A Hispanic man should not have access to 300 credits.
I sit in the pristine, sterile booth waiting for the associates to attach the helmet and goggles. They scan the barcode on my arm, expecting my code to flash red and set off alarms. Nothing happens but the number 0000003 appears. They huff, shuffle, and then retreat, believing their brainwashed stereotype of other races being inferior. Fear rules our society.