When I was a teenager, I worked at a fast food restaurant. If you have never had the joy of wearing a costume and reiterating emotionless catch phrases, believe me when I tell you that the cash registers in any fast food joint are configured so that all one has to do is press a button that has the name and picture of the menu item the customer requests. It even has predetermined monetary bill sizes in the checkout section so that the average flunky doesn't have to concern himself with decimals. I mean, after all, that would be asking too much.
Enter the hip hop culture. To preface how sincerely stupid the average "thug" is, imagine that you went over the entire globe and asked the population to take a third grade reading assessment. You then took the bottom 5% and bred them in a tank of grape soda. Finally, find the two people in the tank that are mumbling psycho babble and picking imaginary flies out of their eyebrows and ask them to have a baby. After 16 years you have a prime candidate to work food service.
So we arrived at Brewster's while waiting on my Lisa's car to get some treads and at first I thought the place was closed. Apparently a phone call with baby daddy was far more important than doing what Brewster's pays this employee to do. Right away I knew this wasn't going to go well. She finally gets to the window and doesn't say anything. She just stares with blank expression as if I'm interrupting her. I had to assume she was ready to take my order, so I just start talking. I ask for a peanut butter crunch milkshake. Lisa asks for a pineapple sorbet. After a few minutes, this imbecile comes back to the window to inform us that they were out of pineapple sorbet. Lisa opts for strawberry instead. Only three minutes had lapsed at this point, yet this genius had already forgotten what I ordered and asked "what you want again"? I reiterate that I would like a peanut butter crunch milkshake. I mean, it's not like there are fifteen different varieties of peanut butter products on the menu. It really is pretty basic and had she just pressed the peanut butter crunch milkshake button on the cash register the first fucking time I asked for it, she wouldn't have to try and think. I know that thinking causes these people physical pain, and I'm a nice guy so I try to avoid putting them in that position. I pay for the order and I swear she looks down, scratches her head, looks back up at me and asks "what you want again"? At this point I just want to set the place on fire. It's not that difficult. It is beyond me to think that people this fucking stupid can manage to tie their shoes, let alone successfully execute basic motor functions. It took everything I had not to just leave. Had Lisa not been with me, I would have. I suppose I could of just written my order down, but at this point I didn't believe she could read.
It's no wonder that Obama was elected. After all, even he knew that the vast majority of his base couldn't read and write on a third grade level. That's why he reduced his campaign to that ridiculous symbol and empty slogans. I thought about this idiot for the rest of the day and realized that she is merely a symptom and not the problem. For a long time now, we have tolerated lower standards for people of color. We do this in the name of fairness, but someone please explain to me how this is in any way fair? How is that helping anyone? The results of these lower standards have had the exact opposite effect than the intentions that set these policies in place. Because we hold a large percentage of our population to a lower standard, we've gotten generational poverty, crime, and a generation of young people who want to "stick it to the man" rather than be productive citizens. I mean, why would you want to be something when everything is given to you? Free food. Free housing. Free healthcare. It's your right for crying out loud! White liberal guilt has bankrupted this country in more ways than one.
Yes it has indeed.
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