I always forget that old people like to laugh, too.
I work with a lot of older white ladies…and look…let me be frank…I know what I’m like…and I know when there is a need to “censor” my “assholines/racisimness/awesomeness” because contrary to popular belief not every one is going to find my hilarious hilariousness entertaining.
Perfect example…older black ladies LOVE ME…they think I’m filled with all kinds of sassitude…older white ladies…not so much.
And mom you don’t count. You are my mother and thus are forced to think everything I do is hilarious and perfect…mainly because I get this shit from you.
So what do I do when I’m surrounded by the enemy (older white ladies)? I conform.
…if I don’t talk…I can’t offend them. But it’s so fucking obvious that I’m hiding my real personality.
My voice raises up five octaves…
“HIGH HOW ARE YOU TODAY! YOU LOOK AMAZING! WHAT YOU THINK YOUR ARMS LOOK FAT?!? YOU SO CRAZY…don’t eat me.”
…mind you I have not blinked once while screaming into my co-workers face.
I’m so fake, that I have now gotten it into my head that all the older white ladies that I work with hate me and thus are always thinking…”why does that weird girl’s eyes look so soulless.”
Welcome to my internal hell.
I don’t know what to do honestly…I’ve been working with them for a decent amount of time now…so for me to switch it up and drop a decent black joke…you know just to shake things up a bit would be a little weird…to say the least.
I did once though…well not a black joke but I’m proud to say the words “your daughter” and “is a whore” were involved.
And you know what…it was well received.
Some days I wish I could just scribble down my blog url… hand it to my co-workers and creepily whisper….”This is the real me.”
…but I just have this hunch that that won't go as well as my whore joke.
