There’s a nasty, nasty Bush-lovin’ woman who works next door to me, and I often see her on smoke breaks. She is an inveterate racist, the most virulently outspoken person about hating people of other colors that I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. Just now, she was telling me about how someone at a local restaurant got her lunch order wrong, and she said (I kid you not): “She was of a different color than we are, if you know what I mean.”
I said, “Uh, people of all colors make mistakes.”
She sniffed and said, “She was an import from Louisiana,” and then launched into a tirade about how “clueless and screwed up those people” from New Orleans are, how they were useless before the hurricane and they're useless now, spewing out her vitriol with such enmity that I was left feeling as though I’d been singed with a blowtorch.
I said, very calmly, “You know, I think what those people have gone through is a tragedy of proportions we can’t begin to contemplate.”
She kind of hesitated, then stammered, “I told my husband we ought to take in one of those families.”
I wanted to tell her, “I’m sure they’re better off without help from the likes of you, you dour bitch,” but instead I just walked away. Some people just aren’t worth my fucking time.
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