"Bright Kidz" and "Baby Daddys".

I am not African-American.
This is obvious.

Whilst working, I usually take the fact that I'm "different" with humorous gravity.
By "different", I mean Caucasian.

While other races have had the opportunity to call themselves the fateful minority...I have been dwelling in the sanctum of oblivion. I can only imagine that my ignorance has stemmed from years of convincing myself that there is no such thing as "color".

For years I have been telling myself there is no such thing as a "white" culture, and there is no such thing as a "black" culture--we're all just a bunch of aimless wax crayons looking for a cozy box--apparently, most of the people I work with would disagree.

The way it all came about, was when I heard some of my coworkers discussing another fellow coworker (who, of course, wasn't present at the time) named Ty.

Ty apparently has a child with one woman, and a child on the way with another.

He was being aptly referred to as a "baby daddy".

A girl named Britney had become especially excited about the revelation of Ty's escapades, and insisted that he was trying to "start something" with her, because he "kept texting me all day callin me his bae"...to which she replied "nigga, i ain't yo bae".

About a half an hour later, I was helping Britney with an order, and she appeared to still be charred about the revelations of earlier.

"I don't want a man to come into my life and then the second I get pregnant with his child, he'll up and leave." She stated frankly, shoving the bag of burgers out the drive-thru window.

"It's about finding the right kind of guy." I replied, trying to soothe her.

"That's just what most black men do."

"Huh?"

"That's just not how it is."

I didn't understand.

I was pondering this all day, wondering if most black women think the same way. I like to have an open mind about things. I'd like to think that if the circumstances led me to fall in love with a black man, he wouldn't fall into the same frame of mind as the men Britney was speaking of.

Another thing occurred when I was hanging out with Britney, Ty, and one of my co-managers, Danielle. The three of them are black, differing in color, and were making jokes about "bright" and "dark".

When I inquired about "bright" and "dark", I was looked at as if I was retarded, and an attempt at an in-depth explanation ensued. Still not fully understanding, I compared everyone's skin, and concluded innocently that Ty was the "darkest".

I tried to make a joke, saying I was "the brightest of them all".

This was met with nervous laughter, and Britney's loud chortle of "DIS WHITE GUH CRAZY!"

F***k.

I probably could've been fired for this one, if the wrong person happened to be around at the wrong time.

My friend Mason is a twenty-something, whose training to become an assistant manager. We happened to be working the second window at the same time, and we were having one of those odd heart-to-hearts that coworkers tend to have when things are slow.

Mason is extremely suppressed and lethargic.

I'm always curious, and of course I wanted to get to the bottom of his seemingly emotionless attitudes.

Of course, it had to do with a woman.

Particularly, his girlfriend of five years. According to Mason, in the time they've been dating, she's managed to lose an engagement ring, cheat excessively, and turn him from a fun-loving individual into a completely stoic shell.

Bravo, Mason.

Of course as he's telling me all this, I'm feeling sympathy for the kid. We're also preparing an order that I don't happen to realize is a 4 piece kid's chicken nugget.

Just as a very snooty looking bitch in a suburban drives up to the second window (which Mason naturally has forgotten to close) I say in a very loud, forceful voice

"You have to stand up for yourself, man! She's a fucking bitch, forget her!"

As I turn around with a triumphant nod of my head, I don't notice Mason's awkward reaction. I also don't notice Mason's awkward reaction is a direct result of the snooty bitch in the suburban's mortified expression. The five year old in her passenger's seat is giggling.

Of course she asks to speak to the manager.

Lucky for me, the manager that day happened to be the relatively jovial Danielle. Danielle and I are on very good terms, thanks to her being one of the very first veterans who took me under her wing in the beginning.

I didn't find out my situation until I returned to the front, and found myself confronted by a surprisingly nervous Mason, who told me he'd "stick up for me" if shit went array.

Danielle is laughing.

She tells me the lady was "extremely pissed" at the "unprofessional attitude of the staff", before driving off in a flurry of dust and gravel.

Danielle, still laughing, guffaws to us both--"I wanted to tell her, 'LADY, this ain't da HOTEL RITZ naw.' "

She patted me on the back, and told me I was safe. Though my cheeks were red and gave away my true feelings on the matter, I smiled cockily and replied with something characteristically snarky.


Phew.
Close call.

Muy Loca.

Since I've started working in fast-food, my mind has been thoroughly boggled at the number of Hispanics I've managed to come into contact with.

I suppose it doesn't help that I've never felt a significant fondness for the Spanish language, or anything related. I tend to think the only good thing to come out of the Spanish culture as a whole is Charo.

Anyway...

One of the most irksome things that always occurs when I come into contact with an Espangol, is their insistence upon being understood in a predominantly English-speaking country--regardless of if they have learned a word of English or not. And, when one fails to understand them clearly on first try, they tend to become extremely annoyed.

For instance...

"Can I take your order?"

"I...want...nooombur dos."

"Sir?"

"NOOOOOOMBUR DOS!"

Sigh.

I want to reply "Monsieur, vous ne valez pas mon temps."
But I digress.

However, out of all the seemingly crazy instances that have happened when I encounter one of these folks...today has to take the cake.

This Hispanic woman comes to the drive-thru. My friend Rae was taking her order, since I had been designated to collect money at the famed "first window". I had an earpiece, so I could hear everything that was going on.

Rae eagerly chirps "Can I take your order?"

In extremely broken English, the woman manages to mention something about "Cola...large" and "Chicken...20 pieces...".

Experienced Rae takes this for face value, and as she asks "Would you like anything else to go with that?" The woman nonchalantly drives around in her large obnoxious car--passing me at the "first window"--and meeting Rae at the second.

Rae, who hadn't put the order through to everyone else in the kitchen, is staring at her--without food and without a clue as to what to do with this situation.

Meanwhile, everyone in the kitchen is going absolutely nuts.

Little do people know, there is a time limit on how long it takes to make the food, to the instant the person at the window receives their order. This time is supposed to be under three minutes.

Rae hastily puts the order in, as the erratic Hispanic woman begins yelling at her.

We're constantly told that "the customer is always right", but in a situation like this, I would have to say something along the lines of "Fuck this stupid shit."

Between the craziness, the woman manages to hand over her $5.66 for the 20 piece chicken nugget and the large Coke.

"Usted no me puede entender?!?!" The woman cries in frustration.

"Ma'am, your food is coming right up." Rae soothes her. "Please drive into the parking lot, and we'll bring out your food."

All we hear is VVRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM and the seething Latina speeds out of the fast-food parking lot.

Everyone is absolutely livid.

Not only did this woman manage to fuck the line-up of everyone else's orders, but her 20 piece chicken nuggets and large Coke were chilling without a home on Rae's counter.

Rae almost went in the bathroom and cried from pure annoyance.

Everyone eventually calmed down, and things got straightened out. There was finally peace in the kitchen, and I settled back into my money-collecting routine.


Twenty minutes later, Loca showed up for her 20 piece and large Coke.
Seriously?