Once upon a time I lived in a sketchy part of New Haven-- there was a chalk outline on the sidewalk outside our house when we arrived. We were fine there, though-- I sound like a Canadian librarian and am White and was a little cautious about looking friendly but not too friendly until I figured people were used to seeing me around the neighborhood, though.

Anyway, the local bodega was a major gathering spot. One day as I was leaving with a six-pack a cluster of boys I think were 8-10 called something to me that I didn't quite get, so I turned and asked for a rep. "Are you straight?" one called. "No, I'm curly," I said.

*pause*

"Curly? What the f*** that means?"

I prefer that conversation to the one you had.