Humor: T-shirt discrimination is wrong - and sometimes lucrative

By SCOTT HOLLIFIELD
Media General News Service
Published: January 8, 2009

I want $240,000.

That’s what my fellow victim of T-shirt discrimination received and that’s exactly what I want.

According to a story in The Washington Post, an airline and two officials with the Transportation Security Administration recently paid $240,000 to settle a discrimination lawsuit alleging they barred an Iraqi-born U.S. citizen from a 2006 flight until he covered his T-shirt, which bore a phrase in both English and Arabic.

That phrase was “We Will Not Be Silent.“ It’s certainly not as catchy as “Party Naked” or “Keep On Truckin,‘“ but neither is it as inflammatory as “I’m Going To Blow Up This Plane And Everyone On It.“ To me, it simply implies he’s not a guy you want to sit beside in a movie theater or travel with in avalanche country.

“Ssshhh, dude. Come on.“

But as a fellow victim of T-shirt discrimination, I can feel his pain (pain that can only be alleviated by a $240,000 injection).

If you are an attorney out there looking for the next big T-shirt-related case, here it is:

It was 1985, and I was a hard-working college student dutifully engaged in my studies at the campus library, or at least that’s the way I tell it years after academic probation ended.

Some equally studious companions and I decided to go to a local club to hear, if I recall correctly, George Thorogood and the Destroyers saw their way through blues classics that sounded much better the first time around.

At the club’s entrance, I presented my legitimate ID to a fellow with a big, square mullet-adorned head and bowling ball-sized biceps that suggested he ate Hulk Hogan’s steroids for dinner and Hulk Hogan for dessert.

“You can’t go in,“ Mr. Big Head growled.

“That’s not a fake ID,“ I replied courteously. “I’m a big boy now.“

“No,“ he said, pointing an overly muscled index finger into my chest. “Your T-shirt. No biker paraphernalia.“

First, I was surprised he knew the word “paraphernalia,“ but I later concluded he must have seen it on a court summons a time or two.

Second, I was surprised I was in possession of biker paraphernalia, which I always assumed was a helmet or a woman in a leather vest who answered to the name “Ol’ Lady.“

My T-shirt said “Harley-Davidson” in small letters on the upper left pocket. As biker paraphernalia goes, it was subtle, understated and cost $3 at a roadside shop in Myrtle Beach.

“It’s just a shirt,“ I said. “I’m not a biker.“

That was obvious. Nineteen-eighty-five me looked like a goofy next-door neighbor from “Charles in Charge,“ not a bearded, tattooed extra on a Peter Fonda drive-in flick.

But, apparently, some kind of previous biker trouble at the club - be it a bloody turf war or oil stains on the dance floor - had led to a blanket ban on all things motorcycle-related, including at that moment me, even though I had arrived in a Subaru.

“No biker paraphernalia,“ Mr. Big Head repeated. “But you can turn the T-shirt inside out and go in.“

“So, I have to walk around in the club with my shirt on inside out like I’ve got problems dressing myself and George Thorogood is here to do a benefit concert for me?“ I asked Mr. Big Head.

“No biker paraphernalia,“ he said.

“This is an outrage, sir, and I will not stand idly by while you discriminate against me, cheap T-shirts and Milwaukee-based motorcycle manufacturers,“ I should have said instead of actually turning my shirt inside out and heading for the bar.

Now, though, I seek justice. My eyes have been opened in 240,000 different ways.

Mr. Big Head, you can make the settlement check payable to my new advocacy group, Citizens Against Sartorial Harassment, or its acronym - CASH.

Scott Hollifield is editor/general manager of The McDowell News in Marion, N.C. Contact him at P.O. Box 610, Marion, NC 28752 or e-mail .