I’ve been mistaken for a lot of things in my life

But Hispanic has never been one of them. When I was 17 and had shoulder length, mostly blond hair, I was once mistaken for a woman (despite standing in front of a urinal at the time). When I lived in Harrisonburg, where nobody knew what a Korean was, I was once actually called black.  While lunching in downtown Toronto during the film festival, someone once thought I was a particular director that I had never heard of.

But today, while I was out jogging, I was passed some little kids who were all mesmerized by the not-black person, apparently training to burglarize in broad daylight.  Couldn’t have been any older than maybe eight years old.  As we reached the range of earshot, one of them says to me “hola,” and not in the “I’m using Spanish because it’s cool” kind of way, but in the “I think this guy is Spanish” kind of way.  I acknowledged him with a nod, and kept jogging.

Mistaken for a Spanish person.  There’s a first for everything.  Silly batarians.

The price of culture

This morning, there was a newspaper that I haven’t seen before in my driveway.  As I tend to do with a lot of the local rags, I simply pick them up, and throw them promptly away into the trash can, since it’s on my way back into the house.  But this one, had something visible on the front page through the plastic sleeve that caught my eye.  Before I knew it, I released it from its plastic confines, and was bringing it into the house.

Should America Pay Reparations?

Oh, I knew this had to be good.

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I will never understand how Michael Vick still has fans

At first, I saw him at an arts store.  Mid-50s, black guy.  Wearing a Michael Vick Philadelphia Eagles jersey.  I felt disgust, but let it slide.

Then I saw the exact same black guy at Home Depot down the road, just minutes later, and then I felt like it was a sign that I had to write about it.

Simply put, the headline says it all; I will never understand how Michael Vick still has fans.  The guy brutalized and essentially murdered dogs.  How can anyone be a fan of that?

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The swan song of Miss Racial Profiler

Dear Miss Racial Profiler,

It is my last day on assignment, so I do not feel any remorse for this approach.  But if you thought your weak verbal apology was sufficient for your blatantly ignorant assumption that I was delivering food menus to the hotel because I am Asian, then you are horribly mistaken. You should, and I hope you are ashamed of yourself.  You have no idea how offended I was by your ignorance.  People like YOU disgust me.

And such is the culmination of what turned out to be pretty fun last few days.  The yellow sheet of paper actually has those words written on it.  I could’ve taken the high road and not done any of this, but it’s too good of a story to pass up. This’ll be the last mention of the racial profiler story . . .  I hope.

Turnabout is fair play

This car belongs to the woman whom a few days ago decided that she was going to falsely accuse me of being some minimum-wage working chink Uncle Tom who went around hotels, delivering Chinese food menus to hapless hotel rooms.  Racially profiling me because I’m Asian and carrying a black messenger bag does not automatically mean that I am all of the above.

Needless to say, I am not a person that easily offended, but I was pretty offended, disappointed, and bothered by the very real instance of profiling thrown in my direction.  And this is how I deal with it.

She wanted to take a picture of my car to report, so it’s only fair that I return the favor.  She gets off lucky in the fact that I only report it as mindless, brogging content, instead of attempting to accuse me of solicitation (Although I’m sure a woman has been on the news within the last seven minutes/hours/days for committing a crime that I could falsely accuse her of doing). Normally, I’m courteous enough to blur/marquee out license plate information, but I absolve from such courtesies in this instance.  Now granted, I don’t think there’s anyone who reads my brog who has the DMV powers to pinpoint identify whom this car belongs to, let alone visits my site, but I simply like the idea of putting out in plain sight, that “the person who drives this Acura 3.5RL with Virginia tags is an ignorant person.”

What happened to me today? Oh, just a little racial profiling

So today I was leaving work today, already feeling a hair disappointed, and I notice this African-American woman getting into her own car.  She’s staring at me, but I don’t think anything of it.  I sit down in my car, and fire up the ignition, and in my peripheral vision, I see movement in my rear-view mirror, and suddenly the lady is standing behind my car, evidently taking a picture of my car, likely the plates.

I quickly get out of my car and say “excuse me.”  No response.  Oh, this better be good.  “Hello?”  No response.  “HEY.  Can I know why you took a picture of my car?”

Weren’t you the one delivering menus in the hotel?

Oh, I get it!  The Chinaman, despite wearing a dress shirt, and pin-striped slacks, like 90% of the people in my work complex, is obviously in disguise, to deliver Chinese food menus in the hotel also in the complex!

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