Cat’s out of the bag; I’m not a local.

It was a slow Saturday night. I was chatting with a customer when they walked in.

She plopped down at the bar. Her male companion said, “We need two Shandies.”

“Tell him you’re from the Eastern U.P.” she said to me, winking.

I played along, not sure what she was talking about. “Sure,” I said. “I’ve been through the eastern U.P.” And it was true. Every time I go downstate, I drive toward the eastern end. I still had no idea what she was getting at.

“She’s trying to be funny,” he said.

“See, because you’re Oriental…”

Hear that sound? That’s the sound of crunching and grinding steel, all of the fucking fun in the bar coming to a screeching halt. Because every time someone refers to me as an Oriental, I want to wrap a fucking nine iron around their neck, slap them across the face, and say, it’s Asian, you idiot.

Sorry, I digress a bit. Back to what she said.

“See, because you’re Oriental, you’re from the EAST.” She paused, as if waiting for the rim shot.

I stood there and just stared, seriously thinking that THIS IS THE STUPIDEST AND QUITE POSSIBLY IN THE LIST OF TOP TEN MOST OFFENSIVE THINGS ANYONE HAS EVER SAID TO ME.

I simply told her the truth. “I have to say that’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to me.” I poured their beers, took their money, and camped out at the other end of the bar.

They did leave a pretty generous tip for two beers, at least by the standards up here. Maybe she realized what a fucking stupid thing it was to say. One can only hope.

Tagged as: Barmaid, Conversations