Monday, February 28, 2011


The Jamesons had started working it’s magic, my date was starting to open up; “I mean, the guy said, ‘Hey, Cracka’ - a course I'm gonna call you Ni**a,” he paused to try to get a read on my reaction, “I’m right, Right? I mean ‘Cracka’ is white for “Ni**a”, right?”

It wasn’t horror I was feeling, I felt more let down, I had met other gentlemen from Bay Ridge; this was fairly typical subject matter. Yet, I was seriously considering my date’s query - turning it over in my mind, was calling someone a ‘Cracka’, in fact, the equivalent of calling someone a ‘Ni**a”?

Jimmy’s re-enactment of the afternoon continued; him, just minding his own business when this black guy walks up and calls him a Cracker. The two went back and forth discussing the gravitas of “cracka” vs. the “N” word, the award going to the one who had slighted less, strangely enough. In a final attempt to settle everything in one felt swoop, my date recounted addressing the fellow one last time, “shut up or I will bitch slap you like the bitch you are,” he said it to the guy very casually, like he was letting him know his shoe was untied, but it seemed to settle things as “Bitch” trumps all. He shrugged and took another long sip of Jamesons staring straight ahead.

The stuff that had drawn me to him, the muscles, the ink, were all hidden under his neatly pressed Yankees shirt now, which made the racial slur seem more pronounced, he had the face of a choir boy. He made an honest living, had a good job, taught himself how to cook up a storm since the separation - Doritos breaded chicken breasts to Lobster Thermidor - he carried a wallet sized photo of his small fluffy dog he bought for company, and had a boss motorcycle he loved to ride, what’s not to love. But when he asked if I wanted to stay for dinner, I asked Jimmy to drop me home. “You had me at “Ni**a”, I thought hours after our date, wasn't that always the way. But my humor would have been lost on Jimmy, that, and he's racist - that's what I told myself as I deleted the half naked pictures Jimmy had sent me after our date, my heart sinking deeper as my chances of getting with a real live naked guy looking less and less likely with each click of the delete button.

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