The Race Card Is Double Sided
(My husband and I are new to the area. We are trying out a popular fried chicken restaurant that is on a side of town primarily occupied by black people. I am white, and my husband is Mexican.)
Me: “This chicken is great!”
Husband: “Yeah, but it’d be better with some hot sauce! I’ll go get some!”
(I slide out of the booth we are in to let him out. As I step back I accidentally bump another patron who is walking back up front to refill his drink. He drops his cup.)
Me: “Oops! I’m sorry!”
Customer: *glaring at me* “What’s wrong with you? You in the wrong side of town. You think you can hit me just cuz I’m black?! Racist b****!”
(My husband is about to intervene, but I speak up.)
Me: “You think you can say that just because I’m white?”
Customer: *long pause* “…say what?”
Me: “You think you can claim I’m racist just because I’m white?”
Customer: “I… you… what?”
Me: “Seeing as how my husband is Mexican, I don’t think you can cry racism on this one, man. Nice try.”
(I pick up his cup and get a whiff of what he was drinking.)
Me: “What were you drinking? Sprite?”
Customer: “…yeah.”
(I go refill his drink for him and hand it back to him with a smile on my face.)
Me: “There ya go.”
Customer: “You pretty nice, for a cracker.”
Me: “You’re pretty nice, for someone so ignorant. Racism works both ways, man. Don’t let it—”
Customer: “—yeah. Okay. Sorry.”
(Thankfully, my husband and I finished our meals without any more interruptions.)
