Racially Confused?

A Douche by Any Other Color is Still A Douche. (I am on a roll today. Slow Friday at work. Just chillin', listening to some Nick Drake, blogging my ass off. Anyhow...) So...the other day after I got off of work, I stopped by my local GameStop to see what was crackalackin' (Yes. I said it. It will all make since in a bit. Wait for it...) in the realm of gaming goodness. As far as new releases go- there was a little bit of Jack and a whole lot of shit. I have been on a mad hunt for Lunar Knights, but the game has been out for a bit and I have yet to spot it new or used in that cockroach motel of store that I frequent. I saw it at Best Buy and have not seen it since. I need to just Amazon the damn thing. I digress... Having been a manager of one of the best stores in the entire state coupled with my customer-centric new gig, I tend to be a bit on a snob or elitist when it comes to my shopping experience. If I need your help, I will seek you out. Otherwise LEAVE ME ALONE. I hated the policies that GS made us follow. The constant badgering of the customer base to reserve games and subscribe to the absolute shit ticket of a mag that they made us whore out. I know what these guys have to do. I feel their pain. But they also know me and they leave me alone. That is a good thing. I have been in their shoes. It sucks. But I did what was asked, and I did it well. Until I found an out. Now I find that I actually enjoy games again. So while I was wandering between the 360 and DS titles, I could not help but overhear the assistant store manager (what position I started at...) banter with customers and his fellow staff. ASM: Eh Doug. This Tony Hawk? It out yet man? Doug (who is a PART TIMER mind you...): I dunno man. I hate fucking Tony Hawk. It's gay. ASM: Yeah but this guy wants it. Where is it at bro? I turn around to see a man old enough to be my father with a look on his face like someone has been holding a small turd under his nose. He was obviously oblivious to where he walked into. He knew they sold games. He needs a game, and now he looks disgusted. This is going to be good. Doug: Shhhiiiitt nigga. Lookit up yo damn self. (Note: I am never one to bring up race. I am an equal opportunity hater, but it should be noted here that Doug is as white as the day is long and the ASM is Hispanic. While we are at it, the customer is white as well. Carry on.) Always be making me be looking up yo damn questions 'bout ta game an' shit. (The sheer phonetic ass fucking this sentence took was enough to make Sterling Brown turn white. Hold on to your lunch kit, it gets better.) Customer: Do you talk to your mother like that? (Uh oh...why sir, why?) ASM: Boo-ya! (I don't know if that is how you spell it. But, at this point I don't think it matters.) SNAP! Dude- straight up! Doug: Shut up Miguel. The ASM, Miguel, now goes to the back room to do somthing. A smart move on his part. Lucky bastard. Now it just D-O-U double G, the customer and myself. Surprisingly, no one has noticed me yet. I gleefully bask in my mediocre ambguity. Ok here is the coup de grâce. Seeing as the customer just took the Ace of Spades out of his man deck (huzza!) let's see what this little wannabe wigga does next... Doug: No sir. DING DING DING! Winner winner, chicken dinner! The cracker folded! Customer A: 1, Doug: 0! Customer: Ok then. Well (looks at name badge,) DOUG. Do you have this game or not? Doug: Let me look it up for you sir... Miguel reemerges from the back room. Well that proved to be a classic retail moment. As it turned out, the game was in stock for the system in question (which I knew when he initially asked. But, then the racially ambiguous sideshow would of never transpired. Thusly, I would not have this glorious yarn to spin for your reading enjoyment. (See, everything happens for a reason.) So the customer made the transaction with his credit card, made a disgusted noise with his mouth (pfffftt... something like that I ascertain,) and left. No sooner... Doug: Man that triflin' ass motherfucker. Betta be lucky I don't be cuttin' his ass. Ssssshhhhiiiittt. (Dusts off his shoulders. I don't know why. They looked ok to me. I did not see any asbestos from the ceiling tiles or anything. Oh well. He goes back to gutting game boxes.) Miguel (whom I know from previous visits,) nods in my direction: Hey man. Didn't see you back there bro. How you been? I just smile. Doug looks at him, then me. Doug: What? (looks back at me,) He ain't shit yo. Miguel: Naw man. Chris is cool dude, but you know he used to be a manager dude. (I swear. He is the only beaner I have ever heard use the word "dude" more than me...) He knows Brian (The District Manager. He used to me mine as well. Cool guy.) dude. Doug: So? It's not like he can do anything. Me: Hey jackass. Are you going to keep standing there and talk shit or are you going to shut up and ring me up? Some of us have real jobs that we are done with for the day and want to get home. Miguel looks at me and I nod for him to go to the back again. He starts back. Doug: Hey! Where are you going? Come ring him up! Miguel (nods, laughs, salutes me, and heads to the back): Naw dude, you got it bro. You got it. Walk it out, walk it out. Peace Chris. Me: See ya Miguel. Now... where were we? Doug: I ain't gotta go checkin' you out dawg. (This statement took me by surprise. Not because he was refusing my service. But, because this was his first use of the word "dawg'" and it was surprisingly not followed up with the now classic "Know what I'm sayin'?" Impressive none the less.) Me: That's cool. I step away from the counter, and he goes back to gutting games like some little retail robot. I pull out my cell and dial a number. Me: Hey Brian. What's up? Oh, good, good. Uh huh. Steve is good man. Steve is good. (An old boss of mine.) Hey, not to bother you but I seem to have a problem. (By now, D-fizzle is looking at me again.) I am here at your Gessner location. Yeah, the one in the old Fiesta strip. Uh huh. Yeah. It seems that your boy Doug is too busy cussing out customers and gutting games to check me out. Doug: Come on man, whatcha need? (Picks up my box, starts ringing me up...) Me: Oh. It looks like he has changed his mind. It's cool... take care Brian. You too. I close my phone and pocket it. He rings me up. Just as the reciept prints... Me: You know what? Nevermind. I don't want this. (Actually I did. It was Eternal Sonata, but I was doing this on principal alone.) Give me my money back. The look on his face was priceless. He looked like I just set his baby pitbull on fire and put it out by pissing on it. I had him. Am I evil? Wait, I don't care. Me: And while you are at it, I need to cancel all of my reservations that you have in the system under me. (I had like 7. This will screw his totals for the week and mess the store up too- but I really did not care at this point.) Doug: Aw dawg, come on man. You trippin'. Straight trippin'. Me: I can call Brian back. I'm sure that last guy will be calling your customer service too. He hates that stuff. Doug: Naw dawg (Wow! three times in the last 2 minutes! I'm stoked "dawg!") We coo we coo. He does the cancellation of the 7 reservations and gives me my 35 bones back. Doug: That's bullshit yo. You gotta be flexin'. (why flexin'? What happened to flossin'?) Callin' my boss and shit so you can be all tough and shit. You's a triflin' bitch too yo. He slams the receipt and cash on the counter, and goes back to gutting games... Me: I get that you might be from the 'hood and all. What hood there is 'round here. That I get. HOW you got this job? That escapes me. I would of sent you kickin' pavement the minute you sat your wannabe hard ass down across from me in the interview. Who you reppin'? Bunker Hill Village? Kempwood? Long Point? Maybe Spring Valley? Why don't you try walking round U of H after dark? Take a stroll down Navigation. Come over to South Houston or Pasadena, where I grew up, and talk that shit? Mexicans hate that shit as much as anyone else. You little punks are a dime a dozen. Frontin' in the 'burbs. Please. Your bitch ass likes everything there is about being black other than the color. You are not embracing the culture you moron. They hate you as much as we do. You are a slap in the face to the whole racial progression we have tried to make, retard. I don't know what's funnier: your act or mine? Doug: Fuck you dawg. Act. This ain't no act nigga. You? Whatcha got? I pull out my phone hit redial and speakerphone. PHONE (My wife's voice): Hello? Where are you? Hello? Christopher? (I love it when she calls me that.) Me: Call you back sweetie. Pocket the phone. Me: Take it easy "dawg." Exit. UPDATE: Doug in all his glory sadly does not work for his beloved GameStop any longer. Apparently, according to Miguel, the customer who initially felt the wrath of his wiggerdom actually did call Brian and file a complaint. PS: I apologize for the wall of text post. HAPPY SHOPPING! T8BC