Monday, July 30, 2007

I'm starting with the hate in the mirror

...You are the IT guy with steakhead size muscles and tiny little ballerina legs. I think you’ve lifted a bit more than one too many computers in your day. How can I tell? Well how about the shirt that’s 2 sizes too small or maybe your happy hour spandex white T that you change into before leaving the office every Friday? It’s like you’re trying to be superman, except instead of the S for Super, you wear and H for Hated.

...You tell me how great Miami is everytime I see you. As if it wasn’t bad enough for the senses to see you in the super white spandex T, I have to also hear you? Just because I have an Italian last name, it doesn’t mean I want to hit up the clubby clubs in South Beach. Not everyone likes that and something tells me, not everyone likes you. As a social experiment, I’d love to learn how this goes down, at what point to you tell women that you’re the IT guy? Oh right, there are no women, there’s only hate.

...You are an exact clone of Napolean Dynomite’s brother and are eating in my work cafeteria. I realize the need to employee the nerdery, but this is just out of control. I don’t care that you’re some kind of number genius freak, there is no excuse for such dress, but this goes beyond the simple look, I mean the acne is down to a T, the voice, identical, the little 13 year old moustache, unreal, and most importantly let us not forget the most uncanny resemblance of my hate.

...You insist on the playing the “guess the Asian” game whenever you encounter an Asian woman. You see, if you are Asian (if not just observe), go to your local dry cleaner, corner market, Chinese takeout, or Chinatown (and for the record yes, that’s racist, I get that, but play along) and let the games begin. It starts with a curious stare and then a double take, then it eases into outright uncomfortable. You might smile or otherwise make the store owner aware of the staring. The store owner will shy away, then talk to some coworkers in his or her native tongue all the while keeping an on you to see if you understand, you give them no satisfaction, they figure you for full on American. Then you conduct your business amidst the uncomfortableness, and you stump them by saying thank you in their native language. The reaction is one of shock, the employees that have all since gathered round the register to have a closer look for themselves are now giving each other nods of agreement that they were right, you must be Chinese, the store owner asks, are you Chinese? No, Korean? No, Vietnamese? No Philipino? No, what are you then, you tell them you are actually .00001% Chinese they all smile and laugh in affirmation that they did in reality guess correctly, then you explain the rest of your ethnicity is hater of you.

...You are my cleaning lady. I know you stole my gym membership ID, it had to be you. I do not lose things, they are only stolen because I know exactly where everything goes at all times, I have a constant running tally in my brain. I can see it now, the cleaning lady at the gym, on the treadmill wearing a costume to pose as me. I know, it’s a crazy thought to think a little old eastern European immigrant would be up to such shenanigans but it’s true. I can just see her now at my gym, wearing my gym clothes (btw I’m missing a pair of shorts…), wearing a white headband, my old sneakers that she found in the trash, a wig and a lot of hate.

...You see me carrying large bags and boxes unable to actually swipe my work ID to get in and instead of hold the door for me, you make a point of closing it behind yourself. You know I work here, you see me almost everyday. I hate to tell you that there is no secret about the business being conducted here, there’s no reason to not let me in. This is really akin to the full cavity search of 80 year olds at the airport, that’s no exaggeration. It’s also akin to me hating you.

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