Not Sure

Being so not racist actually presents it’s own problems. I suffer. Oh Lord, I suffer. Yesterday was a great example of just how racist I’m not and the stress that goes with that.

I drove to All Sport with my smallest and most backward child. God-damn kid is so retarded his favourite thing is when I pretend to be asleep. It cracks him up when I close my eyes and he shouts, ‘wake up!’ It gets old real quick, especially when I’m driving but he could do it all day, that’s the level of the guy. I went to All Sport to look at running tops. The Jersey Marathon is soon and I haven’t really trained for it so I thought getting a new vest might sort of make up for the lack of mileage. When you look good, you run good.

Jersey Marathon? What? Do you have to run around the island 50 times?

Good one, actually there are over 500 miles of roads over here, so no, not good one.

We pull up in the car park and I get the kid out of the back and we’re walking across the car park, to the doors of All Sport, and I notice a black family standing around their vehicle. Now, I noticed them because I’m so not racist.

Over here in Jersey we hardly have any black people and when you see some, you notice them, well, other people do, I don’t. The lack of them is nothing to do with me, by the way. If I had my way there’d be loads of black people over here but I don’t make the rules. Okay, I voted for the regulation but I didn’t really read the small print.

Fucking small print!

Yeah, so I noticed the family in a fully not racist way. Good for you, I thought as I flashed them an inclusive smile. I then went to check I’d locked my car properly. I had but the kid had left his 3DS on the back seat so I put that under one of the seats and headed back to the shop, carrying my idiot child on my shoulders. The family were still standing around their car, waiting for one more to get out. I didn’t smile at them this time because, hey, they’re just people. I didn’t even notice them the second time, they might not have even been there – they were shadows in my peripheral vision, if that – but my kid started pointing and hooting and laughing. “Look daddy!” He shouted, pointing towards the family.

It was a fucking nightmare.

“Look, look!’ He was shouting while pointing at them. I pinched his calf and he screamed, making the family pay more attention and not the opposite, but he’s still on my shoulders, demanding I look at where he’s pointing. The family are looking at me now and so I had to smile and despite my pinch the kid is pointing and laughing and so I pinch him again and hurried inside.

I couldn’t even believe what had happened. I just couldn’t understand why he’d reacted as he had. I mean, I was in the shop literally thinking, what the fuck?

As soon as I put the kid down he runs off to look at the bicycle lights. He’s obsessed by them. He can’t ride a bike but he likes looking at the lights. I looked at the running vests but they were all the same ones as they had last time. They had a quite nice orange one, Nike, but I think my mate has got that one and I couldn’t risk it. The guy who worked in the shop said to me, “Just looking?” Because at least once a week I go in and just look but I didn’t like his tone so I decided to buy something anyway. I left the vests and found the kid and let him pick a bike light and he was over the moon.

Above the tills in All Sport they have large flat screens displaying boring shit about stamps, charity and all that, but when I looked up I saw it was showing a puppy. This puppy looked just like a small version of our dog, Banjo. It looked just like a baby Banjo, right? So of course I say to the kid, “look up there, a baby Banjo!” And I look down to make sure he’s looking up and he is and I sense people behind me in the queue and so I sneak and peak and it’s the family from outside. “A baby Banjo,” I said pointing up at the screen so everybody within earshot would know I’m a great father and good egg.

Looking up at the screen there’s no dog on it. No, there’s no dog. Now it’s displaying a woman picking tea. Big colourful sack on her back and a head scarf. I stood straight and I’m thinking, baby Banjo sounds a little bit like a… a… a racist thing, you know?

Because I’m so anti-racist this really bothered me, compounded by what had happened earlier. I just stared at the screen until it was time to pay the Oriental cashier. Now I’m not racist anyway but I’m definitely not Asian racist Fucking love kung-fu.

I paid the woman and my kid shouts, “wake up!” at her and I bundled him out of the shop.

“The fuck is wrong with you, you little bigot?” I asked him outside. I was going to have to have it out with his mother, she was bringing up a real kid from Northern England. I’d have to be more hands on, I decided, as I kicked him across the car park.

“Look daddy!” He shouts as I kick him past the family’s red 4X4 and I look because now there’s nobody there, they’re inside the shop, probably calling the Hate Police. I think it’s good they’ve got a 4X4 because of mud. And then I’m shaking my head, you know? Where the fuck did that come from, I’m thinking as I try to shake it away. It was contagious, like Tourette’s. I then realize he’s pointing at the picture of Tweety Pie which adorns the tyre cover on the back of their car! “Teety!” He shouts because he can’t talk properly and I laugh and pick him up and hug him.

After turning the car I had to wait as the family crossed the car park and returned to their car. When they were across I pulled up at the back of their car. The mother looked at me. I pointed at the back of their car and realized there was no way of explaining what had occurred.

“Oh nothing,” I said and I drove off laughing wildly, happy in the knowledge none of us were racist. I explained Asian people’s eyes to the boy as a bedtime story but sometimes I think life would be easier if I was a massive racist, or easier still, if black people didn’t exist.

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