Showing posts with label slice of life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label slice of life. Show all posts

Thursday, February 19, 2015

That awkward moment when you can't tell if someone's just an asshole or if they're actually racist


Being a non-white person in white America can be confusing. Like, really confusing. Raised to believe we live in a post-racial America, we’re often forced to give white people the benefit of the doubt when they pull dumb shit. The contemporary racist is a hell of a lot harder to detect. Basically, the goal is to be offensive enough to make people feel targeted but subtle enough to get away with it. As a non-white person in white America, you’re not allowed to cry racist. If you do, you’re an oversensitive, overreacting asshole/bitch that plays the “race card” in hopes of getting some kind of compensation out of it.

I’m not saying every jerk I bump into that happens to be white is racist—not at all. I’m just saying it gets frustrating being pressured to not point out racism when it actually does happen, as well as not being able to say for sure who’s being racist because some people really don’t know better or they're just terrible people in general. Anyway, I present this anecdote:

The Pacsun that used to reside in my local shopping mall sucked ass. However, I liked their clothes, so I kept coming back. I’ve never had good customer service there before, at least nothing worth commending. On average, it was shitty. Absolute garbage. I always assumed it was just because the employees that rang me up were self-absorbed hipsters too busy trying to figure out their lives or whatever bullshit you have it. But my last few times at Pacsun were so awful that it got me wondering if there was more to the shitty customer service than I thought.

Quick summary of my treatment at Pacsun: the employees ignored me, acted stuck up, and sometimes directed sarcastic comments at me. Oh, and the same employee that made the sarcastic comment was rushing me while I was getting money out of my wallet WHEN THERE WAS NO LINE. And once, an employee totally ignored me and waited for me to hand her my card when I had actually been holding it out to her for a solid ten seconds. They usually stand behind the counter talking to each other and make me wait for a minute or two before stepping forward a whole six inches to ring me up. And while ringing me up, the cashier often continued talking to other coworkers behind the counter. And it’s not even a select few employees. I always got someone different whenever I went there, and the same thing usually happened.

After my last transaction at Pacsun, I sent Maddy an angry text message confessing my underlying hatred for our local Pacsun. She was confused.

“Whaaaat? Whenever I go in there with Kyra we end up having super long conversations with the employees and they’re really helpful.”

My mind was blown. I thought they were shitty to everyone, but obviously not if Maddy and Kyra loved them. There was no remote consideration of underlying racism up until this point. I thought to myself: do we really wanna accuse them of racism? That’s kinda hard to prove. You can’t just go around calling people racists. That’s a heavy accusation to make. But then I remembered the other (white) people getting better customer service in the store. And if I’m not getting the same treatment as Maddy and Kyra, something must be up. Keep in mind that I went to that Pacsun fairly often, so my dozens of shitty experiences were not likely to be coincidental.

Later on I asked Ally if she’s ever had shitty customer service at Pacsun.

“Well they usually don’t say anything to me. But it’s probably because I never buy anything. But you actually bought something and they still ignored you at the cash register, so that’s kinda weird.”

I’ve only had one positive customer service experience at Pacsun (that I can think of), and that was when I was with Ally (a white person). Maybe I should just remember to bring a white person with me if I want guaranteed quality customer service.

At the end of it all, the only thing I could really say for sure was that some form of discrimination was going on, whether the employees realized it or not. Maybe they really are racist, maybe they just subconsciously act snobby and lazy around average looking people. Or maybe I’m just a really unlucky person that always gets the shitty employees every single time I go to Pacsun and it really was just a terrible coincidence that I got a snob to ring me up every single goddamn time I was there. I don’t really know. Either way, it’s inexcusable. Get your shit together, Pacsun.

But let’s jump to the worst-case scenario: what if they really were racist? They would’ve gotten away with it. Why? Because the discrimination was subtle enough to not raise any eyebrows over, and overall it just wasn’t worth the hassle of contacting a manager or someone else higher up. After all, I just wanted to buy my clothes and go—I could really care less about negligent employees not asking me if I found everything okay. But that’s my exact point: people always get away with these things because we (non-white people) are pressured into brushing off these subtle moments of discrimination, and also partially because we want to believe that we’re not being discriminated against. And these racist assholes know it too.

If there’s any moral to my story of lukewarm discrimination, it’s that we shouldn’t have to put up with it anymore. Sure, it’s a mild form of discrimination, but it all adds up and essentially screws everyone over. If someone’s being racist or discriminative in any way, I shouldn’t have to feel pressured to ignore it. I should be able to call that person out and not be told I’m overreacting.

I’d also like to encourage self-awareness. It’s very possible that you may think you’re awesomely respectful and treat everyone equally well, but in reality you’re a subconsciously racist asshole and you don’t even know it. We’ll all have moments where we slip up and truly mean no harm, but it doesn’t hurt to check ourselves and be aware of our personal biases. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Marginalizing peeps ain’t really a light offense, so how about we just not?

Saturday, January 31, 2015

Winter Break: Why I was too busy to update my blog

Ok, I admit that it was a little irresponsible of me to neglect my blog for two months. But in my defense, it's a lot harder than it looks. To make up for it, I made this fantastic collage which summarizes my Winter Break experience. It was ultimately defined by The Office (I watched all nine seasons and it was one of the best decisions of my life), a quarter pounder with cheese, zines, sparkling pomegranate juice from Trader Joe's, vanilla and cinnamon black tea from Trader Joe's, and Kanye West. Well actually, there's a lot more to it. 

Here's an excerpt from a zine I made a few weeks ago:

New Habits
01. Obsessive tea-making
02. Saying the words "thang" and "thangz"
03. Texting people useless information at 3 in the morning
04. Accidentally impersonating people from The Office mid-conversation
05. Having dreams about characters from The Office 
06. Mentally assigning characters from The Office to people at work
07. Jamming out to Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" in the car
08. Ducking when the parrot flies around the house 
09. Sleeping between 3 and 6 AM
10. Hoarding and scanning ads I find in old National Geographic magazines dating from 1936-1988 for future collage purposes

New Discoveries
01. A convincing Rookie article that made me like Kanye West a lot more and made me realize that just maybe we could be really good friends
02. The "Highway 61 Revisited" record I never knew I left behind
03. Havarti cheese
04. Giant stash of NatGeo magazines from the 1930s hiding in the garage
05. The joys of zine making
06. Trader Joe's tea
07. BB cream (I finally got around to buying some)
08. Indonesian salsa (it does not taste like something you dip your chips in)
09. My inner ping pong master
10. "German dungeon porn" as a phrase to be acted out in charades

Exciting Things I Did
01. Complete the Midwest Argonaut Vol. 4 with Maddy
02. Watch The Office
03. Make my very first zine
04. Go on a late night McDonald's run
05. Attend another grownup party with charades and Cards Against Humanity
06. Attend a white elephant party
07. Go ice skating*
08. Have lunch with Joel
09. Friend gatherings at the Osmon house
10. Go on a Target run with Rachelle

*At the time I wrote that, I assumed I was going to go ice skating within the next few days. I never actually did go ice skating.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Winter Break Thangz

The last few week of Winter Break was quite the hoot. It can ultimately be defined by these few words: brunch, zine making, and partaay. For those of you who abide by the notion of "pics or it never happened", here ya go. Pretty pictures for all y'all to bathe in jealousy over (not really).






Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Quarters of an Argonaut

Once upon a Tuesday afternoon, I had the room all to myself, no roommates. So naturally, I pulled out the camera, and took some shots of my little corner of the room. Some highlights of my corner include my spider plant Quentin, my not-so-portable record player, and a pimped out closet door. 

Quentin was obtained at a Welcome Week event on the St. Paul campus. Good thing he's virtually indestructible, because I always forget to water him. He really is a cute thing. 

Two Renoir paintings, a free poster from the Electric Fetus, and some New York postcards Dalena gave me.

Nowadays the only record I ever really listen to is my Lena, Sarah, Billie, and Ella record. It's perfect any time of day. 


A Monet painting, a NASA picture from an old National Geographic magazine, and some posters I got from a poster book.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Saturday, 1:10am

I sat in my seat, breathing and moving as little as possible. Hoping to God that no one could see my face smattered in tears, I wiped at my face with the bottom of my coat sleeve. Only one week into school and here I was, sobbing hysterically on a late night bus. There were exactly three people on the bus— me, the bus driver, and a fairly young, fully bearded homeless man resembling a hippie.

I listened as the hippie-resembling homeless guy relayed his grievances of the system to the bus driver, who in turn nodded in sympathy.

“Where you getting off, miss?”

Suddenly realizing that I was the “miss” he was addressing, I immediately straightened my posture and looked up.

“Excuse me?”
“What stop do you want to get off at?”
“Oh! Sanford, please.”

The bus driver slammed on his brakes and stopped at the curb.

“Oh whoops! Sorry, I forgot you were supposed to get off here. Got distracted. I was asking this young lady here a question—”

The bus reached a halt and the doors swung open.

“It’s alright,” said the hippie homeless guy. “Pretty ladies tend to have that effect on people.” He got up, gave me a nod, and said, “You have a good night miss,” before heading to the exit. I took it as an act of kindness and smiled at him.
“Thanks, you too,” I answered. And with that, he hopped off the bus.

The doors closed and the bus continued on. The rest of the bus ride went on in silence, with the exception of occasional remarks made by the bus driver and me giving the customary nods and uh-huhs, yeahs, and definitelys.

I gazed out the windows as we crossed the 10th Avenue bridge. The city skyline passed by on my left, the Mississippi River on my right. My eyes grew wide and my heart less heavy. The sight of the scenery sunk in and all of a sudden things didn’t seem so bad. In a way, I began to appreciate the circumstances that led me to this bus ride. 

Tea Time With Ella

Setting: 10:55 pm, five minutes before close at the Espresso Royale coffee shop. Our heroine is located at a back corner of the shop, textbooks, cup of tea, and writing utensils sprawled across a wooden table. A calm, quiet ambiance fills the air as jazz music plays in the background. Imagine a cozy lighting, the soft blur of conversation, quiet footsteps, and the sound of flipping pages.

Swirling the remnants of my Monsoon Darjeeling tea, I stared at the paper cup as it tilted in circular motion. I plucked the knotted tea bag out of the cup, its contents bulging out in a less than aesthetic manner, and took a sip. It was bitter.

“There’s a somebody I’m longing to see—” Ella Fitzgerald crooned slowly.

It was as if the barista knew to play this song for me. How did he know I’m absolutely nuts about this song? I couldn’t have imagined a better time for it. Ella’s hauntingly beautiful, rich voice slowly lulled me into a state of angsty romantic thought. I quietly inhaled and took a sip once more. I thought to myself that surely this is a picturesque moment, something worth writing a vignette about.

I began to sing along with Ella, uncaring as to what my audience would think.

“I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the woods—” we sang in unison. “And I know I could always be good…”

I rested my right elbow on the table and laid my cheek on my hand. Slowly, I began to drift away into another world. As I gazed into the giant mirror hung on the wall, pictures of romantic grandeur flashed before my eyes. I imagined polished pianos, men in black coats, and lovers in the alleyways— clouds of cigarette smoke, passionate whispers, and tangoes into midnight.

I looked outside through the reflection of the mirror. It was dark, cold, and blustery. A man stood outside of the door, puffing on a cigarette and watching the clouds go by.

Staring down at my textbooks, I thought to myself that this was anything but romantic. As Ella finished off the last lines of her song, my illusion slowly faded away and I was back into the dull reality of homework. Maybe one day, I thought to myself. I proceeded to wash down my feelings of faux nostalgia with a gulp of bitter tea. Clinging to what little energy I had left, I packed my belongings, and left the coffee shop.

Monday, June 9, 2014

Rosy Retrospection


After an ever-so-grueling shift at the public library, I was delighted to find the sky painted with rosy shades. Chad and I took the elevator to the rooftop of the parking ramp and quietly soaked in the zen. Om...