White people are the original shit starters and tattle tellers. This is a fact and I have proof.
Truthfully speaking, I am usually an easy-going person. I don’t bother people, nor do I look for ways to show my complete ass. But on this particular day, well let’s just say I went all in. For the sake of the story (and because I don’t know or care about their names) we’ll just call them white lady #1 and white lady #2. I may switch it up, but we’ll stick with a that for now as I tell you my most recent Chalkasian tattletale experience.
A couple of months ago, I received some free tickets to see The Color Purple play. I decided to invite my friend J with me to have a girl’s night out. Before we took our seats, we made a pit stop at the bar. I ordered a double shot of Hennessy with cranberry juice. As the bartender poured my drink, I could see she was a little heavy handed with the liquor which excited me because cognac ain’t cheap and I hate stingy bartenders. Seeing this, my friend J decided to order a double shot of Tito’s with cranberry juice as well. I’m sure you’re probably thinking “oh shit,” but I promise it gets better or worse—depending on how you look at it.
Anyway, once we grabbed our drinks, we went to find our seats. As I walk into the theater, I see there is a large amount of wypipo here. Obviously, my friend thought the same thing because we found ourselves saying, “They do know this is about black people, right?” We laughed and I brushed it off as we continued to look for our seats since I’ve long figured out that the mayo-fused people love the black culture—they just hate black people.
We finally found our seats and we sat down. Here is where white lady #1 and white lady #2 come in. As we slide into the row, our seats were the first two seats (or last two) in the row. Anyway, I sat next to white lady #1 and my friend J sat in the aisle seat. Just to give you an idea of the seating arrangement (you’ll need it later), it was J in the aisle seat, me, white lady #1 and white lady #2.
Fast forward to the play starting and we’re into it. Like any movie we’ve seen a million times, we knew all the lines. As the scenes were acted out, I leaned over to whisper something in J’s ear. This was obviously not okay to Marge (white lady #2) who was moonlighting as the usher because she felt the need to lean forward and shush me like I was a damn 4-year-old child.
In true black girl form I found myself saying, “Did she just fucking shush me.”
Apparently, my friend was equally disturbed because she leaned forward and asked, “Who fucking shushed you?”
I pointed to the lady and she continued to her stare down. I was beyond outdone and had to really take a few deep breaths before popping off. I decided to give her a pass (huge mistake, you’ll find out why later) since I understand white people feel like they are the hall monitors, ushers, line leaders, talk monitors and any other unappointed role of authority when they are in public—and I didn’t want to act a fool before the play was over.
Fast forward about fifteen minutes there’s another white lady in the row in front of us with her daughter. Throughout the entire play, they whispered things to each other, moved around and other noisy things. As I watched them talk to each other, I noticed how neither Cathy (#1) or Susan (#2) told them to shush. I’m guessing they’d hung up their usher’s uniform for the night and was off the clock or had suddenly gone deaf. During this time, J had pulled her phone out a couple times. Now her light was turned all the way down so there was no illumination or sound, but this clearly was not good enough for the row monitors.
Each time she pulled her phone out, I could see Jane (white lady #1) looking over at her out the corner of my eye. I could sense another unwarranted comment was coming, but I just observed. I remember thinking to myself, “She’s about to do something really stupid.” Now remember I said J was in the aisle seat (away from white lady #1), she had the phone light low, and had the phone tucked in her purse. Well the last time she slid it out, white lady #1 who had returned from break was now on usher duty felt the need to lean forward and say, “Excuse me, could you please put your phone away—I’m trying to enjoy the play.”
What came next would probably need about 20 of those beeps they use to use on the radio when profanity was said. Trying my hardest not to bust out laughing, white lady #1 continues with, “I’m just trying to enjoy the play,” again as if she hadn’t already had her whole life read to her and my friend checked her again.
Fast forward to intermission, I return from the bathroom and noticed I didn’t see Becky or Barbara. I figured two things: they were either in the restroom or they were doing what Caucasians do best—went to tell on us. I’ll let you guess what comes next. As J and I are sitting there, the house manager approaches us. Now this is my favorite part because we all know white people love starting some shit and stepping out of line, only to go run and tell on your ass like they didn’t bring this on themselves.
As the manager begins to speak to us, we noticed that he’s very rude, confrontational, and never once did he ask us what happened (he was white too in case you were wondering). He immediately took the word of the colonizer because she came to him “shaking and crying,” because we got her together and she was butthurt now. After fifteen minutes of me correcting his management style and pointing out how she was out of line—the situation ended in us getting him together and an actual usher being seated in our row to make sure the poor, white ladies who somehow became the victims—don’t feel threatened by the two black women they started some shit with.
At this point, there are few things white people can do that would shock me. Matter of fact, I’m sure as I write this, there is someone scrolling and mumbling the new wypipo disclaimer “not all white people are like that,” to themselves and to that I say, “fuck off.” Like most black people, I’m sick and tired of chalkasians being given a pass when one of theirs displays an act of ignorance and racism—but they have no problem grouping all black people into the thug, criminal, animal, ghetto, and angry boxes they check off like a free appetizer survey at Applebees.
I’m over trying to search for the needle in a haystack, white saviors who are not like their racist counterparts but sitting quietly when they see things like this going on. These days, it’s difficult to separate those who blatantly don’t like black people from those who simply tolerate us—but secretly do want us to go back to where we came from (wherever this magical place may be).
Whether you are moving into your own apartment, barbequing in the park, shopping at a boutique, chasing down a racist who threw coffee at your car, walking home from the store in a hoodie, silently waiting for your friend at a Starbucks, working out a gym you have a paid membership at, or eating at a Waffle House—white people find any reason necessary to be offended about you invading their space.
They gentrify our neighborhoods, listen to our music, label us every negative term they can think of, all the while they steal anything black that isn’t nailed down—and we’re invading their space.
It is virtually impossible to live in America and not witness the outrageousness of white privilege. It’s even more impossible to be black in these situations and not feel defenseless because if you go off—they somehow flip the script, turn on the waterworks, dig in their bag of stereotypes and give a D-rated movie performance to the police.
Unfortunately, many believe this is Trump’s America, but it’s not. This has always been the attitude of the colonizers in America. This is generations and generations of hate and entitlement breeding passed down. The only thing that is different is that we get to see 30 seconds to 20 minutes of it, live and in color. Despite what anyone would have you believe, there is no such thing as “free speech” when you’re black. Regardless to the bootleg bullshit Candace Owens and Kanye are peddling—there’s no such thing as “free thought” when you’re a melanin-filled person in America.
Even though we think we are decades from black people being banned from sitting at white only counters—in their eyes, we aren’t. Although, we may feel we have just as many rights as they do to this land that our ancestors built as they bled and died for—we don’t.
As each new incident arises, we are reminded of these simple facts. These are their shopping centers. These are their fitness clubs. These are their restaurants. These are their Starbucks. These are their parks. These are their streets and highways. These are their neighborhoods. These are their police officers. This America they stole, murdered, and raped people for is theirs.
I understand it now. It’s painfully clear to me that when they feel uncomfortable and bothered about you existing in their shit—they’re going to do what their forefathers before them have done since the beginning of time.
Tell on yo ass.
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