Monday, May 01, 2006

May Day! May Day! May Day!

If anyone is left out there to get this message, please help.

The nationwide boycott of American commerce by our indispensable keepers and maintainers, Our People of the Noble Working Mass, the Latino immigrants, is wreaking havoc here in Seattle.
At first it seemed that everything was no different. Things almost seemed...normal. But then it all started to come apart. At the drive-through my Breakfast Jack® breakfast sandwich arrived a full twenty seconds later than it usually would have. I shook this off, thinking the worst was over; when upon biting into my favorite morning confection I noticed the distinct and unwelcome tang of excess mayonnaise. I could barely get the thing down.
Shaken, but still stubbornly, foolishly determined to will myself through the day, no doubt due to my racist and xenophobic hysteria at the thought of being overwhelmed by brown masses from the South (which I now, hopefully not too late, realize was the source of my resistance), I proceeded as if everything was going to be just fine. I know, I know; how could I have been so foolish?
Stopping at the hardware store right away I knew something was terribly amiss. Where were the day laborers? No, I didn't require the services of one at the moment, but their absence was terrifying. What if I needed a convenient, spur of the moment furniture mover? Or someone to help me clear the brush out on the far reaches of my expansive ranch, so I might finally grade and mark out that polo ground? Worse still, what if a local contractor would have to actually hire someone in a standard employee/employer relationship? More importantly, how will the economy ever survive the increased costs to said contractor; and what will become of his Friday ritual of leaving early to hit the strip club and drop another couple of hundred on that twenty year old girl who, regardless of his monetary advances, would still blow her rape whistle as loud as her comely young chest can manage if she ever encountered him off the premises?

I purchased lumber and nails to board up the house and as much water and dry food as I could carry to prepare for the inevitable societal collapse, and sped home. I found my daughter there; I rushed to her and held her close.
"Thank God you're alright. Were they even able to feed you at school? Was the sudden lack of diversity too jarring? Oh my precious little one, I'm so sorry! We didn't know! We didn't know!"

After an hour of reviewing the copious literature her school sent home on the last Martin Luther King Jr. Day I felt her hard fought and ever so fragile racial tolerance had been shored up sufficiently. I asked her, doing my best to conceal the dread in my voice, what the experience was like for her. The poor thing, she was doing such an incredible job of masking her emotions and fears, that she actually pretended, or perhaps in her shock-induced denial actually believed, that I was being hysterical.
Go ahead dear, I said, tell Daddy what happened.
"Well, everything was pretty quiet, actually." Dear, sweet, brave child. I turned away slightly so that she wouldn't see the tears that were forming in her father's eyes.
"What about unrest?" I asked. "There must have been a near riot when the lunch lady, what's her name, Carmela, didn't show."
"She's Guamanian, Dad. She doesn't care about any of this. And no, there were was no 'unrest'; in fact, all the gangbangers were gone today. It was kind of nice. No fights, and that creepy Nicarauguan kid whose been sexually harrassing me wasn't there."

She's currently quarantined in her room until I can find a psychiatric professional (if I can find one in all this madness) to deal with this shocking onset of racist stereotyping, no doubt incurred as a result of her sudden immersion into a school atmosphere that was dangerously, unwholesomely Caucasian. Excuse me a moment, I think I hear something. Sorry, I'm a little on edge.

You guys go ahead without me, I'm stuck here trying to figure out how this mower works. Go on, I'll only slow you down anyway. Go now and, please, be safe and stay off the main roads if you can, they're sure to be full of roving bandits by now. But first promise me you'll try; try as best as you can to retain your humanity in the chaos which is about to envelope us all. Save whatever you can; preserve whatever good you can find, so that future generations don't make the same mistake we have, and if this is it, goodbye dear readers.


Anonymous said...

You picked up your daughter at 11am? Is she in kindergarden?

Dennis Dale said...

Well, no. But everything else you read here is true.
Wait a minute. Why are you asking my daughter's age? Do I need to call Donnie Deutsch in here?

(note: the reference is to the Donnie Deutsch talk show and it's recent series tagging along on police stings of adult men hustling underage kids online; I've still not got it through my head that that joke isn't going to fly, as I'm the only one, apparently, masochistic enough to watch the Donnie Deutsch show. It's not very good, I mean.)

Anonymous said...

Hilarious! And the Donnie Deutsch reference clinched it. I got the joke. 2 for 2!

FuturePundit said...

I'd suspiciously ask why he expects your kid to be out gardening.

The Cult of Guilt

Philip Weiss : I’ve been reading Amos Oz’s books since his death, and one of the feelings he leaves me with is: Self-contempt. Many of Oz’...