As I was walking into a building, an African American man asked me if I knew where I was going. He was dressed for San Francisco weather with a thick wind breaker and was talking with a friend. Accustomed to the typical people I encountered in the city, I automatically said that yes I knew where I was going.

He gave me a look and said, “I am security for the building—it’s on the third floor, take the elevator up and it’s on your left.”

Immediately I felt guilty, wondering if he thought I racially profiled him and passed him off quickly as a San Francisco nobody. Would I get a free pass just because I am a minority—an Asian? Probably not. But as I stood in the elevator filled with guilt, I realized there was no way I could have known he was security. He didn’t dress like one or behave like one—not with the casual clothes and the chatting with a friend during work hours. How could I have known? If he had been Caucasian or Asian, I would have thought the same thing.

But as I stepped off the elevator on the third floor, I completely forgot about the episode and opened the door to my destination.