Hey, Countess

White people realizing that their reality is not ubiquitous is hilarious to watch. I liken to a computer short circuiting. In my early 20s, I had a group of white friends who were amiable enough, although they were not people I would be friends with now, or even by 25. One evening, one of them played a Beatles song from their cars and everyone began singing along. I stood there, both confused and clueless. First, I thought the song was fucking terrible, and could not understand why everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves so much. Second, I had no idea who The Beatles were at this point. I asked what was playing. 

Record scratch. All eyes on me. At least one of my white friends was probably considering calling me a nigger in that moment.

“You never heard (I can’t remember the name of the song) before?”

“No.”

“Have you heard The Beatles before???”

“No.”

“YOU HAVE NEVER HEARD THE BEATLES BEFORE!?!?!?!”

All of my white friends said this in unison. Definitely getting called a nigger now. I explained that I had not even seriously interacted with white people until around 18. I made a white girl cry in the fourth grade after I told her that Santa Claus was not real. That was basically the extent of my interaction with whiteness until adulthood. That would not be the last time I made a white woman cry for telling them an obvious truth. I recognize a lot more of The Beatles catalog now, through subconscious osmosis, not on purpose. 

Around that same time, I was dating a blonde bimbo with bodacious tits who was a mathematical genius. To continue the theme of this story, Anna Nicole had a nice rack. She loved to smoke weed and suck dick. She was as white as my white friends at that time, meaning I had sex to a lot of Beatles and Radiohead records. Hey Jude slaps. Karma Police does too. I could not give a shit about either band beyond that. 

Advertisements