by Amber Ruffin
The girls are watching these idiots dancing around in blackface and start looking around like, “What the hell is this?” Lacey thinks, Okay. I’m sure this show is going to comment about how this is now considered offensive and people have evolved or something at the end of the fucking blackface section of this shit show. But the show seems to be praising Al Jolson. Gulp. Suddenly, the narrator, Julie Andrews, appears. Lacey is relieved. Surely Julie Andrews will save us. This woman said something to the effect of, “Some people are offended by blackface but there is nothing offensive about it.” Now, the kids are out-and-out talking to each other like, “What did this hoe say?” The teacher pauses the video to calm them down. Lacey is relieved. The old white teacher says, “There’s nothing wrong with blackface.” Le sigh. Lacey takes the teacher out into the hallway and explains to her that she’s an idiot. The lady doesn’t relent. Lacey takes the video out, throws it away, and replaces it with a video about pollination. Lacey came home and told me this story and, small world, that’s the same lady who used to be a drama teacher a million years ago who told my friend’s mom she couldn’t play Maria in West Side Story because her “skin was too dark.” Too dark. To play. Maria. OKAAAAYYYY.
Back to wherever we were. Lacey is at 4-H with people from work. They all came in a group with their kids! It’s a fun outing. This is the first time she’s been there without her green polo and group of mostly minority children. Lacey is with her child, Imani, and she’s extremely young. Four or five. Imani is enjoying all the animals and the fun food. Lacey sees one of those boards where you put your head through and take a picture and you’re like a mermaid and a fisherman or a cow and a farmer—stuff like that. But this one is where you can be a Black prisoner and a white guard. It’s next to a stand where you can meet your local policemen. Their stand says, “Talk to us!” I think the fuck not.
As they enjoy themselves, they happen upon something called the Animal Scramble. It’s where a bunch of little kids are put in a fenced-off area with a bunch of baby animals and if they catch one, they get to keep it! Even city kids can participate! If you can’t keep your animal, you can give it to someone who can! Lacey texts her friends so they can come watch her daughter be cute. Lacey goes up to the guy to register. And what luck! It’s one of the nice farmers who loves to give the girls from the home a long-winded explanation about the gestation of baby calves. He’s one of the sweetest guys in the whole place.
Lacey: Hello! How have you been?
Farmer: What do you want?
This is a real surprise. This farmer is the nice one! He was so sweet and helpful. But now he’s regular old racist-style grossed out by Lacey. This man does not recognize her. She’s not with a bunch of minority children and she is without her green polo. To him, she’s a random Black lady.
Lacey: I’d like to enter my daughter in the Animal Scramble!
Farmer: You can’t do it.
Lacey: What? Why?
Farmer: It’s for people who live in our community. It’s not for people like you. It isn’t for you.
Lacey analyzes the situation. If pressed, this man will get crazy and she’s with her kid and there are cops around the corner. Lacey’s hands are tied. She has no choice but to silently leave. She doesn’t want to get so mad she murders this guy and brings that prisoner/guard photo op to life. And she doesn’t want this guy to have the satisfaction of seeing that not getting to participate hurts her and her daughter’s feelings. She’s got no choice but to scoop up the child and get out. As they head to the car, Lacey looks back and sees her friends waiting in the audience to watch her child participate in the Animal Scramble. She texts them, “Sorry, we had to leave. We went to the movies.” Then they went to the movies.
Bit of a depressing story, innit? (I’ve been watching BBC.) Sorry. You’ll find that a lot of these stories don’t have a natural conclusion or a “what I learned” at the end of them. That is because this is real life and it does not stop. These stories only reaffirm where we are. They don’t shine a light on anything new. Here’s a better one about that home:
When Lacey worked at the girls’ home, people thought it was mostly Black girls there, but that wasn’t the case. There were a lot of white girls. And when you got there, all the hair products they gave you would be white hair products. You would get hair spray, gel, and white-people shampoo and conditioner. So the Black staff looked around and noticed the Black girls couldn’t maintain their hair with what they were given. They didn’t even have the right tools. Brushes, combs, etc. A group of them went to the higher-ups and told them about it. They were told that Black hair products were a privilege. That’s right. The white kids could get whatever they needed for their upkeep, but the Black kids had to suffer. Looks like Black hair products aren’t the privilege, but being white is. The Black employees and the higher-ups went back and forth for a while. But eventually the girls won their right to have hair products. This story took place in 1969. Just kidding, but doesn’t that make it make more sense? Okay, back to sillier stories.
Lacey and her friend, who is a giant bodybuilder, are at Walmart. Lacey is a bodybuilder, too, but she’s also a little lady, so you can’t really tell when you look at her. But this guy looks like a frigging Black Arnold Schwarzenegger. He’s huge. The two of them are having trouble with the self-checkout. There’s an old white lady behind them who is very upset. She’s huffing and puffing, which is insane because Lacey’s friend is comically intimidating. She then rams her shopping cart into his foot. They both see it. They both are taken aback by it. They both assess the situation.
Him: I’m not gonna say anything.
Lacey: I will. I’ll only get six months, but if you say anything, you’ll get shot.
They laugh and laugh and the situation becomes funny. This woman is mumbling and grumbling and they choose to ignore her. She clearly wants a fight. The longer they stand there, the louder she gets. It’s hilarious. They’re fumbling with the self-checkout and it’s making the lady behind them so mad! They start giggling at the ridiculousness of it, which makes her madder. Shit is getting tense! People are starting to notice that this white lady wants these two Black people to acknowledge her. Even though it’s a little difficult, Lacey and her friend are chill. Giggly, but chill. Right before they would have had to say something, the register works and they are free! They bolt out of there. That was a close one. Lacey has never seen this behavior before. Like, you’ve seen it in movies where the white people try to pick a fight with the Black people because they know the Black people can’t do anything because they’d go to jail forever. But to pull this type of stuff today? Brave. And in a Walmart, no less. It seems like people get their asses beat in Walmarts every dang day! Google “Walmart beatdown” and see how many pages there are of videos. Wait. Don’t do that. Your computer will think you like watching people get beat up. And every day it’ll be another tank top brawl where a boob pops out.
On the way out, they stop to get water out of the vending machine that’s in the part of the store where the carts are. As they’re standing there, they see Lacey’s white friend Emily. Lacey tells Emily about writing this book. Emily is shocked. They tell her what just happened in line. The three of them laugh about it. Emily can’t believe that happened. But, you know, she can. She leaves.
As they stand there, getting water, the crazy lady rolls by cursing them out at full volume. Lacey and her giant friend laugh and laugh. Then—and this is fairly common—the second this old crazy lady is out of range, she yells the n-word a million times. “They’re n*****s! Fucking filthy n*****s!” She had herself a full-blown racial-epithet meltdown. And this is in a Black neighborhood. The bravery this woman has. Lacey texts Emily later that day. “You will never believe what happened. The crazy lady came out and started screaming at us yelling racial slurs!” Emily replies, “I saw her! I wondered if it was the same lady!”
About a week later, it was time for a funtime lunch with Lacey and her coworkers! It’s better than sit
ting at your desk working, but not as good because you are left vulnerable to all manner of insane comments. And, being the only Black person there, you can be sure they’re coming. So, as the lunch goes on, the conversation is fun. Lacey’s having a really good time. Everyone starts to talk about where they’re from. A coworker begins talking and Lacey can see where this is going.
“I’m from a small town and Omaha is scary.”
When white people say “Omaha is scary,” they mean “There’s a lot of Black people.” I know how ridiculous this must sound to anyone from a bigger city, but that is what small-town Nebraskans think of Omaha. And she doesn’t stop there. “There’s a lotta diversity. Diversity is scary.” Yes, she did—she just called diversity scary! What she means is “I don’t like being around minorities.” Lacey is calm. She knew this fun lunch wasn’t gonna last long.
You see, it’s when you’re having the most fun that people say the most fucked-up things. They’re feeling loose, ready to let their hair down, they see you’re in a good mood. It’s time to say something racist and see if you can get away with it.
Lacey says, “Did you just say diversity is scary? What are you talking about? How is diversity scary? Why would you say that?” This lady goes, “When my kids started school here, they were scared because Black people are mean.”
To remind you: Lacey is Black. She is the only Black person at this table and, clearly, she is the only Black person in this woman’s life. Lacey goes, “You can’t say that. You can’t make blanket statements about Black people. It shows how ignorant you are. You don’t know any Black people. You have no idea how they are. It would be like if I said all British people walk with a limp. I don’t know any British people. Seen some on TV, met a few, but I don’t know any. So, if I said that in front of a British person, imagine how ignorant I would sound.”
Now, at this exact moment, Emily, Lacey’s white friend from Walmart, walks by. She sees Lacey and comes up to the table and happily chirps, “Lacey! Oh my gosh, you’re everywhere I go! How’s the book coming along!” Lacey says, “It’s going great! Every day I have something new to add to it!” Emily walks away and Lacey’s coworkers ask what her book is about. Lacey says, “It’s about growing up Black in Omaha and the crazy things that white people say to me.” There is a long pause where everyone realizes the danger they’re in.
And I’d just like to take this time to tell any Black people who are reading this, you should tell everyone you know that you’re writing a book just like this one. It has truly come in handy more than it should have.
And Now, It’s Time to Play “Guess the Theme of These Stories”!
Story 1!
Once, Lacey was going to a special ceremony at church. They had all dressed up and were ready for fun. She and her boyfriend are in the Taco Bell parking lot, eating the food they’d just ordered. A cop walks up to them and taps on the window. Her boyfriend rolls the window down. The cop’s attitude is like he caught them red-handed, but they’re just sitting there eating. The cop goes, “What’s going on here?” They explain they’re eating Taco Bell, like kids do. “What’s in your cup there, son?” He explains it’s Pepsi, the Choice of a New Generation. The cop turns to Lacey. “What did you just hide under your seat?” What? “I just saw you put something under your seat.” Lacey says, “I didn’t but you can look under there if you like.” The cop grows bored of talking to them and says, “Ugh. You need to take her back where you got her from.” He thought she was a prostitute! This is what she was wearing:
“I’M THE FANCIEST PROSTITUTE ALIIIIIIIIIVE!”
Story 2!
So, when I was very young and cute, I was all ready to go out dancing with my girlfriends. I had on black velvet bell-bottoms, a blue velvet long-sleeved top, and blue platform heels. I know it sounds like a lot, but that’s because it is a lot and I am a lot. It was my favorite outfit for a long time. I’m picking up my white male friend, who is wearing a suit. On the way home we pass by a truck stop and he wants to see if his dad is in town. So—and this is what makes us suspicious—we drive slowly up and down along the semis, looking at their license plates to see if we can find his. Again, a white man in a suit and a Black woman in head-to-toe velvet and platforms drive slowly up and down the aisles of a truck stop. Soon, a police officer taps on our window. My friend rolls it down and you would have thought my friend was the king of England. The respect this cop had for this white man in a suit is un-frigging-matched. I did not know cops acted like that. My friend explains what we are doing there. The cop explains that he stopped us because there’s been a lot of prostitution. This cop thinks I am a prostitute! I try to explain that we aren’t trick and hoe. But the cop is wholly uninterested in listening to me and seems to be grossed out that he has to talk to me in the first place and tells us to leave. It all starts to take a while and my friend becomes annoyed by the cop—and the cop can tell! “You don’t have anything on us. You have to let us go.” And I am like, This is how I die. I die because my white friend talked to the cops like he lost his fool mind. But instead the cop is like, “Okay, but you guys have to leave.” We are saved. As we start to drive away, my friend reminds the cop that I am not a prostitute. I don’t know why he did that, because the cop did not believe him. If this had been a different cop or maybe even this cop on a different day, I might still be in jail for being a prostitute. Think about it: We would have said nu-uh. The cop would have said yes-huh, and we would have gone to jail.
Story 3!
Lacey, Pastor Frank, and two Black women friends went to the airport to pick someone up. The mood was light and they were having a blast. As they’re skipping and giggling along the airport arrivals area, the girls all linked arms with each other and then folded Pastor Frank into the Laverne and Shirley fun. When they linked arms with him, he recoiled and snarked, “Don’t do that, they’re gonna think you’re prostitutes!”
Okay, have you guessed the theme of these stories? You’re right! The theme is Mistaken Identity!
Racist Magician
Lacey hired a magician for her office Christmas Party. She saw him on the Internet and thought, He’s funny! She was wrong. In order to fully immerse yourself in this story, you need to know that most of the staff were people of color.
The magician gets there and is greeted by Lacey. They exchange pleasantries and he gets to work. All he has to do is exactly what Lacey saw him do in the video and people will love it. He looks out at his predominately Black audience and starts off his show by saying, “I hope you guys find me funny. I’m all the way from Ralston and you guys have a different kind of humor over here.” Now, what he meant by that was, Black people live far away from Ralston and they don’t like the same jokes as white people. And he believed what he said because, instead of doing his act the way he normally does, he improvises a zillion Black jokes. Old, stereotype-driven, horrible jokes about Black people to Black people from a man looking at his first-ever group of Black people. His act included the following jokes:
“What are you guys eating? Popeyes chicken?”
He asked a lady a math question that no one would get. It was part of the trick. When she couldn’t answer he snarked, “That’s Omaha Public Schools for ya!”
There’s a buffet. People are getting food and sitting down the whole show. While he’s doing a trick, a Black lady gets up to get food. He remarks, “Whoa, you look like you just wandered in off the street. Hey! Quit stealing food!”
“Even though I’m from Ralston, I know how to dab! ***dabs incorrectly***
It was a horrible show and no one had fun. Some would blame the magician for being racist. I blame Lacey for hiring a magician.
I fully accept your blame and vow to do better in the future.
Black History Showdown
As this book comes to an end, I want you to know I’ve saved the best story for last. Okay, it might not be the best, but when I think of racism, I think of this story. It’s the first story of racism that I can remember hea
ring and I feel like as you grow up and the world tries to convince you that racism is you overreacting, I would remember this story and know that I had to be on my own side. Take us home, Lacey!
When I was a senior in high school, my African American history class entered a team of students into the Black History Showdown. It was a contest among Midwest students to test their knowledge of Black history. The contest was held in Dubuque, Iowa, of all places. Around that same time there were cross burnings happening there. A teacher told us they were trying to change the face of their town and show they were accepting of other races. There was one other Black team at this competition. The rest of the teams were all white. It was filmed in a game-show-style setting. Filmed for what or by whom, I have no idea. But there were plenty of cameras there and a nice setup.
If, by any chance, you read this story and think you may know where this footage is, please let me know. I would kill to see it.
The competition was basically this: Everyone was asked questions and the first to use their buzzer could answer. The audience was all white, filled mostly by the parents of the other players. The Black children’s parents weren’t in attendance both because it was far from where they lived and because they probably had to work. I know mine did. The competition started with some easy questions and, gradually, the questions became harder. But even when they were easy, the Black children dominated. The audience started to become upset as our team began answering most of the questions. Parents began angrily storming out as it became clear that we would be the winners. It was strange to look out at a sea of white angry faces. And, not to be rude, but who cares who wins this competition? Especially if you guys are racist? What does it matter that you don’t know who Frederick Douglass is if you don’t like civil rights? Who knows. Toward the end of the competition, things are getting tense. We are winning, and each of these last questions is making the audience groan with disappointment. When, like a ray of hope, an easy question is asked—“Who wrote the famous ‘I Have a Dream’ speech?”—everyone is on the edge of their seats. Surely the other teams would have the answer for this one. All they had to do is ring the buzzer first, answer correctly, and not be an embarrassment. A white student buzzed in and, beaming, answered, “Malcom X!” Can you imagine what Malcolm X’s “I Have a Dream” speech would be? I think it’s safe to say that’s a totally different dream. The thought is hilarious. So this kid really blows it and there was a snicker heard from some of the white students who had already been eliminated. That infuriated the crowd. All of a sudden, one of the judges, an old white man, stormed the stage and took the mic from the host. He yelled “Stop filming!” He assumed that we, being the Black kids, were the ones who laughed, but we did not. He proceeded to have a full-throated public racist meltdown for the ages. This man went on to tell the Black students that “everyone knows white kids are smarter than Black kids; everyone knows this.” He emphasized that several times, saying, “You should be happy you were even invited to this event.” He was really trying to make the angry parents and audience members calm down and stay. Before turning the cameras back on, he took most of our points away. He explained to us that we would not be the winners that day. We weren’t going to win because it’s “just not right.” One of the white teams ended up winning. We went home and that’s it. That’s the story.