Perpetual Ignorance

So, the moral of today's story is: No matter how cute, well dressed and articulate you are - my job has taught me that at the end of the day, ignorant racist bastards still see us as poor, dumb black kids. Ignore my college education, fine fabrics and well manicured hair and nails. Talking to me like I'm some kind of peasant. Mad cuz my friends and I will be taking those corporate jobs and waterfront houses from your spoiled kids. And grandkids - cuz trust - my children will be far better than I. Hold that, you old, wrinkly - b...


I won't even allow these people to provoke such words from me. It just never ceases to amaze me, that after all these years of supposed progression - we still get the same level of treatment from certain people. I come in here - always dressed appropriately, always well spoken, always polite. Yet I can't seem to get the same respect in return. I wonder if it's a generational thing - the last of the ignorant breed. Cuz I get a lot of it from old people of many races. The black ones think I'm acting siditty, while the white ones think I'm beneath them. I don't even deserve a greeting. What a shame.


((Tangent: Shoutout to the old black man who couldn't stop staring at me as he pretended to walk by reading a magazine)) 


So Here's How It Went:
   An old, British woman needed help with a vitamin. I took her to what she was looking for, but it wasn't exactly like the trial size she had in her hand. I explained to her that the trial size's description would be a condensed version of what's on the actual box. She said maybe the (white) fellow over there would know what the answer was. I just gave her the answer. So I proceeded to read the box - and point out to her, that if she read as well - she would find the same paraphrased description, in different words. She says. "Smart little girl, aren't you." 
I ignore her. She proceeds to look at me for a response. I feigned a disinterested grin and walked off. 


She comes to the booth, and asks me if I'm new. Since we all look alike, and I have a new haircut - I allowed her that - and told her no. She THEN decided to actually look at my face, and goes - "I think I've met you before. You go to a university. In Miami, right?" No b*tch. Boca. "Oh, it IS nice there. Bla, bla, bla, bla." Oh okay, now that you realize that I'm not some underprivileged hoodbooger - it's okay to talk to me, huh? Well, I kindly concluded our conversation and sent her on her jolly way. Fuming inside, grinning outside. Thank you, Mother - for the gift of composure. Cuz I tell you... 




I suppose I should be used to this. But at this point in my life - I refuse to let anyone treat me like some low rate skanky hoodrat. I know there are people out there who don't deserve respect. But I am not one of them. This woman today truly pushed my last button, and somehow I still managed to keep it all inside - dispite the fact that I wanted to ring her wrinkly little neck til she turned blue. Because I won't perpetuate a stereotype. I won't snap my neck and call you all types of B's, and possibly lose my job cuz I beat your ass. I'll smile, let you go - and get as rich as I can so I can treat you as nicely as possible when you leave MY store. Hope I hire some of your grandkids...