This is a true story.
Honestly.
I have a friend. He is from Boston. He lives in LA. He is smart, funny, tech savvy and black.
Did you see the order of words? Unfortunately, in this story, the last one is the important one.
My friend is tall and broad. He's like Tiger Woods, but without the cash and pussy.
We were wandering around HMV, looking at cd's (and with that sentence, this story immediately dates itself). We were a few aisles apart when I noticed a security guard paying attention to my friend. He noticed the security stares, too.
I was amazed. Not only was this guy following my friend around a store, but he had also managed to prize his eyes away from his mobile phone for more than 2 seconds!
Anyway, my friend and I managed to get either side of the Elite Republican Security Guard. My friend picked up a cd and said, in a broad US accent, "Hey, I can buy this for half the price at home!".
The Elite Republican Guard stopped in his tracks. All his ninja reflexes had been on a heightened state. His hands hovered over his hidden ninja weapon holster, ready for use.
But something was wrong...The voice from the black person messed with his training.
His face dissolved into a misshapen collage of parts, not dissimilar to Wayne Rooney's when confronted with the words "flammable" and 'inflammable".
He had to say something. He had to excuse himself. He had to, and he did. These were his words:
"I'm sorry. You're American. I thought you were black."
I'll let that hang there....
....
....ok.
At this point, I turned into Joe Pesci in Lethal Weapon 2.
"But", I said "he is black. Well kind of cappuccino coloured. Mocha, if you will. Egg-shell tan, as Dulux would call it.". Ok, I didn't say all of that.
The security guard ambled off, no doubt to browse interracial porn at this point, and we went on our way.
It seems to me that the real racism in this country is not about the colour of your skin, but the colour of your money.
