Unfiltered Story #47706
(I am six years old, and I have no concept of racism yet (I’m white), and I easily forget parts of things I’m told. I’m outside playing and looking mischeviously at a puddle with some moss in it when my mother sees me.)
Mom: Don’t touch that puddle!
Me: Aw… why?
Mom: There could be chiggers in the moss.
Me: What are those?
Mom: Little… things you can’t see, but they make you itchy.
Me: Oh, okay.
(Later, my best friend and her sister come over – they’re half African-American, half Hispanic, and being around the same age as me, they head straight for the puddle.)
Me: No! Wait! You can’t!
Best friend: Why not?
Me: *trying to remember* Uh… my mom said there were invisible itchy things in there called n******.
Best friend: Oh really? But if we can’t see them they could be here now!
Me: Let’s run!
(We run around screaming, which naturally attracts my mother’s attention.)
Mom: What are you all screaming about?
Me: Can’t talk now mom! I’m running away from the n******!
(My mother had a talk with me shortly thereafter. )
Question of the Week
Have you ever served a bad customer who got what they deserved?