Storytime: That Time I Made Out With A Racist
In my defense, once I realized she was a racist, I stopped making out with her.
This story takes place at Santacon, so you know it’s going to be good.
For the uninitiated, Santacon is a loosely organized event that takes place every December in many cities across the U.S. (maybe even world?). The concept is this: people dress up as Santa and get drunk all day. I believe it started out with charity in mind, where people would bring food to orphans or whatever, and then go party afterwards. But — because kids these days — it’s devolved into the second biggest day drinking event of the year for San Franciscans (behind Bay to Breakers).
So you’ll have to forgive me if some of the details are a bit fuzzy.
We started at a friend’s place for a few drinks to get ourselves into the proper mindset. Wasn’t long before we made our way to a bar, and it wasn’t long after that when I met the subject of this piece. Let’s call her Janie.
I noticed Janie smile at me (the real-life equivalent of swiping right), so I went right over to talk to her. Confidence is sexy, and all that. Opened with a joke I had thought of earlier that morning:
“Hey there. What’s your name?”
“I’m Janie. And you are?”
“Santa. Nice to meet you.”
That joke lands approximately 100% of the time, every year. Go ahead, you can use it.
She was cute, and playful, and I could tell she was into me from the start. Three great qualities for a woman to have. So it was going pretty well — her friends were fun, she was laughing at my jokes, and we had the whole day and (ideally) night ahead of us.
Early in the afternoon, we all made our way to Washington Square Park, because there was supposed to be a related event there that we had to check out: people were going to try to set a world record for most naked Santas gathered in one place (hats would be left on, of course).
The disappointment there was as great as it was predictable. You could count the naked people on one hand, and they were all old dudes. Of course. In their defense, they probably didn’t know how unattractive their junk was because they each had a gut that would obscure said junk from their own view. All the young and attractive people stayed clothed, but everyone still managed to have a good time.
It was at the park where we started close-talking each other, and entered into a little smooch-fest. Indeed, my first Santacon experience was turning out to be as fun as promised.
Later in the evening, things took a bit of a turn. We were walking from one bar to another and passed a small group of Occupy protesters. (This should give you an approximate idea of when this story occurred). As soon as we walked past them, a switch flipped and Janie started ranting. She was not exactly sympathetic to their cause. I’m paraphrasing, but:
“blah blah this whole Occupy movement is complete bullshit!…Get a job!…blah blah and they expect all these handouts and blah blah…”
Okay, so our political views aren’t aligned, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have a good time. Maybe we can talk about this stuff another day. Yet despite numerous attempts to change the subject, she wasn’t having it. In her mind, she was on a roll.
“…and these idiots are just living in their own piss and shit! never wanting to work…and my dad grew up using cardboard boxes for shoes and he worked hard and blah blah…and Obama is ruining this country!…and blah blah blah”
And the way she was saying all this was so…hateful. Like she had a real fundamental problem with anyone who had anything to do with any left-leaning cause. It didn’t help things when she asked for my thoughts on the subject and I politely disagreed.
“How can you think that?…You’ve got a job and they just want take all your money and give it to these poor pieces of shit!…and blah blah…and they’re fucking poor for a fucking reason!…and my dad worked for his money and so do I and blah blah”
First of all, honey, you’re in San Francisco. If you’re surprised when someone has a liberal world-view, get used to disappointment. By this time I knew that Janie and I did not have a future — not long-term, and not that night. It’s just not that fun to be around someone who displays that much disrespect. I’d say we had a continued “discussion”, but that wouldn’t be the right word. Because between my short, measured responses, she would go on these rants, spewing hatred with the force of a firehose. It was in one of these rants where she slipped in a phrase that literally made my jaw drop.
“…and why should they get my money that I fucking worked for and blah blah…and meanwhile our nigger president is…”
Now, the bar was loud, and she was slurring her words a bit, and I was pretty intoxicated myself, so I can only be about 90% sure she said it. But…she said it. I’ve always felt bad that I didn’t call her out. Major regret for me. But I was just in shock. Instead we parted ways peacefully, agreeing that it was a shame we held these views.
At least it made for a good excuse when I met back up with my friends at a party and they asked me why I wasn’t on my way to Pound Town. Although in hindsight: Janie and I were attracted to each other on the outside, but both had no respect for the other person on the inside. Probably would have made for some good hate-sex.
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