Satire by John W. Lillpop
For the record, white people can be, and in fact are, subjected to racial profiling more often than is commonly known.
My personal experience with this barbaric practice took place at a Mexican grocery store in middle San Jose, affectionately known as “Little Mexico” to some, not so affectionately to others.
This store is exceptionally clean and the checkers, butchers, servers, and janitorial crew —all Hispanic—are cordial and friendly.
If you are fluent in Spanish, that is, which I am not and never will be.
A Spanish-language radio station plays Mexican music, and only Mexican music,on the store intercom, in Spanish of course.
Most of the customers are Hispanic and they converse only in Spanish. This includes the check out clerks and service personnel.
My racial profiling abuse came when I was standing in line to pay for some braised pork, called Carnitas.
All of the customers ahead of me were greeted in Spanish by the checker, but when the young lady spotted me she immediately broke into broken English with “How you, today?”
I answered her in unbroken English, without showing any of the inner seething that was playing havoc with my blood pressure over the racist treatment dumped on me.
After paying what I owed, I sought out the store manager and advised him of my racial profiling at the hands of the checker on counter 2.
In his broken English, he apologized and asked how he could make it up to me.
In English, I offered to settle for $25,000, cash.
At that point his Mexican face seemed to explode and his well-manicured mustache arched involuntarily into his nostrils. For a few seconds, he engaged in unintelligible stuttering and stammering as his head continued to disintegrate.
He then broke into a diatribe of angry shouting which, because it was in Spanish, meant nothing to me. However, even with my non-existent Spanish skills, I interpreted this wild outburst to mean 1) I was not going to my $25,000 any time soon, and 2)I was invited to leave the premises—pronto!
After calming down slightly, I decided to present the local ACLU shysters with an unprecedented challenge: Advocate on behalf of an abused white dude against a racist Mexican check out clerk and store manager!
Recognizing the importance of this issue to all Americans, I organized the facts and my desire to be represented by the ACLU in order to secure justice.
Unfortunately, the ACLU staff were at lunch; thus my urgent plea for rescue from the ravages of racial hatred was left as a voice-mail for the managing ACLU attorney.
Knowing the ACLU’s inherent bias against Caucasians, I decided to sweeten the pot a smidgen, so I offered to settle for $15,000 plus free Carnitas, with a side of fried rice, for three weeks. Hold the spicy salsa sauce, please.
That was two days ago. To date, I have received no reply from the ACLU.
If the ACLU fails to respond, my next step will be to file an appeal to the Civil Rights Commission and to Attorney General Eric Holder.
We white folk MUST demand equal rights-- and the fight must go on!
