Yippie! Oh boy have I been waiting for this day. I don’t even remember how I met the guy. Someone introduced us and we all went to see Transformers 2 and it was great. Something about meeting a black guy excited me, you know? He seemed really nice and all, and we were getting along talking about Dynasty Warriors, and then there was this weird kinda minstrel show thing happening in the movie. I thought it was funny, but he shouted “Racist!,” so I was all like, “Dude, you’re not helping your case by yelling at the screen.” And I laughed, and he shook his head in disgust, and it was great. Even exhilarating. I don’t know, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest, you know? A guilt of some sort was yanked off my burdened shoulders. It’s like I’d been waiting years to finally be able to make a joke like that.
When I’d finally get him to hang out (he’s pretty flaky and doesn’t really keep his appointments with me, so you can imagine the jokes there), it’s like a thrill or something. He doesn’t live in a sketchy neighborhood per se, but he does live in a neighborhood with a lot of murals. Makes me feel like I’m part of something different, a whole new world, even. It was the first time I’d ever seen kids bust open a fire hydrant. And how charming it was! It’s a nice change of pace from all the open spaces and golf pants around my neighborhood. The novelty of it, you know?
I told him we should do comedy together. He said, “A duo?” And I said, “Well, more like one and 3/5th of a person.” See? I told him I could do stand-up, and he could do blackface without offending anyone. Or I could do the Gallagher routine with the watermelon, but I’d have to do it before he eats the damn thing. Oh, and guess what else? We just found out that Popeye’s Chicken delivers to his apartment. The laughs we I had, man. The laughs I had. For his birthday I bought him grape soda and an old copy of Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, and he said he already had it. I said, “Ah, maybe I should’ve gotten Raisin in the Sun.” That’s where a BA in English comes in handy. I call the subway to his house the Underground Railroad. That’s from my minor in History.
I mean, those are the greatest hits right there. About 95% of the time, I stick with the classic, “Oh, you would do that. Because you’re black.” He says I don’t need to remind him. In a way, when he’s listening to the hip-hop music (“You would!”) or dancing really well (“Surprise, surprise, am I right?”) and I tell him he’s black, I’m reminding myself. I’m reminding myself that I have a friend, and by golly, he’s a black friend. That’s never happened to me before! It’s like skydiving, only you’d never see a black guy skydive. I know, because I asked my black friend about it. It’s just…it’s just such a relief, in a way, that I don’t judge him or discriminate against him, that I can interact with him non-awkwardly, that I can see things from his perspective. I mean, I can ask for his black advice on anything. It’s great. I’m waiting for the days when my jokes grow on him. Or shall I say, Negrow on him. Get it!?
Ah, I’m so culturally sensitive.
