What Kind of Homeland Security Is That?
Ranter: 30-ish man in running shoes and green suit
Location: Bank of America ATMs, Jefferson & McClintock
Time: 6 p.m. on a Thursday
Topics covered: Suspicious security guards; the fact that ranter doesn't drink at lunch; the presumption of innocence; why ranter might be moved to drink at lunch anyway; the pains of being profiled; invasive investigations; the likelihood of terrorist acts being committed with Mexican food.
[While waiting in line, standing at ATM and then walking back to his SUV in the Subway parking lot, Running Shoes Suit Man declaims the following into his BlackBerry:]
Twice a day, every time I go in there, it's the same shit. Today she thinks I've been drinking, and she actually asks me if she can smell my breath. For real. I always got to talk my way into my own job. She says, "You can't come in here after that much Christmas cheer."
I say, "I ain't been drinking."
She says, "Then why you sucking on a breath mint?"
Like that proves it. What about innocent before proven guilty? Maybe I just like smelling nice, you ever think of that? Maybe I don't like smelling like lunch all day!
And then she calls me belligerent. Like it's not her shit that gets me started. Like it's not her that would make me want to drink in the first place.
She's not like that with white guys or Mexican guys. Just me. And I tell her that. Why's my own kind treating me worse than everyone else?
One time I come in with a burrito. A burrito. Wrapped up in foil, in a bag. For later. She's, like, what's this? And she grabs it, playing detective or something, and I'm, like, bitch, what's it feel like? It's a burrito!
But she keeps right on investigating. Oh, she's excited now, like she's cracking some big case. She don't open it, but she pokes it and sniffs it and then she squeezes it. And then she squeezes all the meat out!
I mean it! She squeezes the meat out of my burrito!
What kind of homeland security is that?
Nobody ever opened fire with no damn burrito. Damn!
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