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I wish to heaven I'd seen this in person because just thinking about it makes me giggle, and I can only imagine what it would be like to have these memories stored where I could lovingly take them out and fondle them at my leisure.
Anyway, my friend Beth once worked at a store in our local mall that sold educational things and gifts -- fun stuff and fun stuff to work around. The store was near an exit and so one day, a white girl -- a very white girl, with red hair, freckles, and what skin that wasn't covered in freckles so pale that you could see the veins under it -- in a track suit came storming into the store.
Beth was at the counter, and the girl made a beeline for her.
"Want y'all to know some dumb n***** ran over my foot in y'all's parkin' lot!"
That's offensive, right? Bear in mind that the girl had an accent and an inflection that made her sound as though she'd been born in, raised in, and never allowed out of, East Harlem right up until that moment.
Bear in mind also that when the girl said 'my foot!' she kicked up her leg and pointed to her foot, as though perhaps Beth didn't know where such a thing might be located.
Beth says her face went slack.
"N***** rode by on a scooter and ran ova' my foot, white boy tryin' to act all black..."
Up went the foot again.
Beth, who has a bit of an accent herself, said that she made a conscious effort to smother any trace of an accent in her voice and to speak, when she did finally speak, in a voice that could have belonged to... Hubert P. Quiverbottom, Professional White Person (Kids, don't try this at home!). She did not, however, point out the obvious contradiction here, nor did she question how exactly a person "acts black" by running over people's feet on a scooter.
"Golly," said Beth, "I am so sorry to hear that. Would you like for me to call mall security for you?"
"Ain't no need. Y'all just need to know some dumb white boy wanna be all black ridin' around in y'all's parkin' lot. Dumb n***** ran over my foot."
Up went the foot.
"Gosh. That is terrible. I hope you are not hurt."
"I be fine."
"That is good. I am happy to hear that."
"Gonna sit down, get off my foot."
The foot did not come up, but it was pointed to just in case a reminder was needed.
"You do that. There are benches nearby that are ideal for sitting."
"I do that."
"You do."
And as the girl turned to leave, so did Beth, who hurried to the stock room and office, and managed to make it to the office before she laughed so hard she fell down.
I love this story. It's almost to the point that she and I, in lieu of 'hello', merely say "My foot," and point to one our feet in greeting. People tend to stare when we do it though, but we don't care.
Anyway, my friend Beth once worked at a store in our local mall that sold educational things and gifts -- fun stuff and fun stuff to work around. The store was near an exit and so one day, a white girl -- a very white girl, with red hair, freckles, and what skin that wasn't covered in freckles so pale that you could see the veins under it -- in a track suit came storming into the store.
Beth was at the counter, and the girl made a beeline for her.
"Want y'all to know some dumb n***** ran over my foot in y'all's parkin' lot!"
That's offensive, right? Bear in mind that the girl had an accent and an inflection that made her sound as though she'd been born in, raised in, and never allowed out of, East Harlem right up until that moment.
Bear in mind also that when the girl said 'my foot!' she kicked up her leg and pointed to her foot, as though perhaps Beth didn't know where such a thing might be located.
Beth says her face went slack.
"N***** rode by on a scooter and ran ova' my foot, white boy tryin' to act all black..."
Up went the foot again.
Beth, who has a bit of an accent herself, said that she made a conscious effort to smother any trace of an accent in her voice and to speak, when she did finally speak, in a voice that could have belonged to... Hubert P. Quiverbottom, Professional White Person (Kids, don't try this at home!). She did not, however, point out the obvious contradiction here, nor did she question how exactly a person "acts black" by running over people's feet on a scooter.
"Golly," said Beth, "I am so sorry to hear that. Would you like for me to call mall security for you?"
"Ain't no need. Y'all just need to know some dumb white boy wanna be all black ridin' around in y'all's parkin' lot. Dumb n***** ran over my foot."
Up went the foot.
"Gosh. That is terrible. I hope you are not hurt."
"I be fine."
"That is good. I am happy to hear that."
"Gonna sit down, get off my foot."
The foot did not come up, but it was pointed to just in case a reminder was needed.
"You do that. There are benches nearby that are ideal for sitting."
"I do that."
"You do."
And as the girl turned to leave, so did Beth, who hurried to the stock room and office, and managed to make it to the office before she laughed so hard she fell down.
I love this story. It's almost to the point that she and I, in lieu of 'hello', merely say "My foot," and point to one our feet in greeting. People tend to stare when we do it though, but we don't care.
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