#182: Why Should I Respect You?

[F.U.C.K. is an e-zine that I started on January 24, 1993 and ended on January 24, 2000. One concept is that articles should be timeless if possible, so they were not released with dates. As such, the date on this blog is not exact but I will try to use a date as close as possible.]

The last person that dressed like you was the guy pushing some worthless crap at my door. You dress up in your slacks, shirt, tie, and jacket thinking that defines ‘well off’, yet the used car salesman that sold me my car had more expensive shoes than you did. Door to door sales people dress like you do. Managers at Taco Bell dress like you do, but I’m supposed to respect you because of the way you dress?

The last person that carried a cell phone like that had to ask me how to turn it on. After he bought it for a penny, he couldn’t figure out how to turn it on, and how to place a call. He didn’t understand the concept of reading the simple instructions and figuring it out. A week later he came back because he couldn’t receive a call. That penny cell phone is supposed to make me respect you?

The last person that drove a car like yours was dealing coke to kids downtown. I know your thirty five thousand dollar Lexus is a really nice car, but the drug dealers like them too. Should I respect you both?

The last person that looked down at me like you did was the first to show how nice of a guy he was by jumping ahead of everyone else when a new cashier opened her lane. Instead of letting one of the people that had been waiting to go, you decided you were more important than me. But I should respect you because you think you are better than me?

The last person with white skin was a racist bastard who made a snide remark about “those stupid niggers” to his friend. After that, he looked at me with a look of “you understand, right?“, but I didn’t. I should respect you because you were born with lighter skin than others?

The last person who spoke like you did wanted to fight me because I was minding my own business as I walked by him. He pulled his pants up from his thighs and threatened to kick my ass. I couldn’t figure out why he dressed like some of the less popular rappers, and spoke like other black people, yet was white and living in a $400,000 house with his parents.

You are unique. You dress like others, you act like others, you’re the same age as others, you’re the same skin color as others, you have money like others, you talk like others, yet you are you and not anyone else. No matter how you try, or who you try to appear like, you are still you.

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