I’m sitting in the very front of the forward-facing rows, on the driver’s side, in the seat nearest the window. At a light somewhere in the ID, the man sitting in front of me (in the closest of the sideways-facing seats) strikes up a conversation. Three sentences in, he asks an odd variation on one of those questions:

“What nationality are you from?”

I know full well what he’s getting at, but I play along anyway. “I’m from here.”

“No, but what is your ethnic background?”

I cut to the chase this time–no need to prolong the interrogation. “I’m mixed: black and white.”

“Well, you could pass for a lot of things: Lebanese, Egyptian, Mexican…anything with color.” He pauses and cocks his head. “People look at you and expect you to speak some languages.”