Graffiti Practice

When I got in line to order my lunch at the cafeteria, the "chef" (I use the term very loosely here) was using the permanent marker used to mark the wrapping for meals to write on a paper towel to write what I swear was graffiti practice. I guess you can take the kid out of the ghetto, but you can't take the ghetto out of the kid.

Speaking of ghettos, I have a story about buy shoes this past weekend. Now, you all need to keep in mind that AT LEAST 75% of my neighborhood doesn't speak English as a first language (and is probably Dominican). Anyway, I pay for my shoes with a credit card, which in my neighborhood you're usually requires you to present and ID as well. (If you pay with a debit card that is directly tied to your bank account, you don't need one, but the credit card that legally protects you from paying fraudulent charges you need an ID for. Go figure.)

While looking at my NY State dirver's liscense and comparing the names on the cards the girl/woman asks "Where are you from?"

While resisting the urge to say "White Suburbia" I answer "Uh, Connecticut."

She responds, "Well what's your nationality?"

I again resist the asinine response of "Typical American mutt" and say "I'm more Irish than anything, but my last name is Dutch."

I guess they're just not used to last names that don't end in a vowel or Z.