So, I’m walking out of a McDonald’s, double-quarter pounder in tow, when an older white gentleman with a red pen tucked in his shirt pocket stops me. I mention he’s a white guy because this McDonald’s is smack dab in the middle of
“Excuse me, sir,” he said from behind me.
“Uh, my last meeting just got cancelled… I was wondering if you had thirty minutes?” He seemed to be searching for his words, glancing around.
“I’m a VP of finance, and we have some job opportunities if you are interested.”
“What? Are you… from McDonald’s?” I mean, I had ordered my quarter pounder really well, but it seemed like an exceedingly low bar for corporate advancement.
“No, I’m looking for some new executives.”
“I’m confused… like on the street?”
“Well, I have a job.”
“Oh, where do you work?”
“At a non-profit over yonder.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“Yeah,” I laughed.
“You don’t want to learn your potential, expand your horizons a little?”
“I’m still confused. Are you scamming me or trying to sell me drugs?”
“This is no scam, this is a job offer.”
“Well, I have a job. If you’re recruiting, maybe you should talk to that guy over there on that bench that was just asking me for change. He probably could use the work.”
“Boss, spare some change from your lunch?” the homeless guy repeated.
“Hey! Still got nothing, chief!” I replied.
“He might have a job, just because he’s asking for money doesn’t mean he is unemployed,” red pen piped in.
“All right, granted. I’m just saying odds are more likely I’ve got a job than him. Why wouldn’t you offer him a job? Oh… wait. Is this a race thing? You offer it to me because I’m white and he’s black?”
“No, of course not.”
“You just roam around fast food joints looking for white boys to offer jobs to and completely ignore other qualified candidates just because they’re black?”
“What’s this guy saying I’m unqualified for?” asked the black homeless guy, as he got up from his bench.
“Well, I don’t really know what kind of job he’s offering, but I know he’s being racist… somehow.”
A car pulled up alongside us. A white hippie leaned out of the window.
“Excuse me, do you know where
I scanned incredulously up and down the street. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What’s the matter, brah?”
“You pull over and ask the only two white guys within a five mile radius for directions. You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence? Fucking racist.”
“Dude,” started the other racist hippie who was now leaning out of the driver side window, “you’re the racist one for thinking we even knew you were a couple of white dudes.”
“I know where
“Then hop on in and show us, kind sir,” asked passenger-side hippie.
“That’s some seriously reverse racist shit right there, man!” I screamed.
“We’re giving this guy a ride, how is that racist?!”
“You telling me you just hand out rides to random homeless dudes on the street? And no one has stabbed you? You’re only letting this guy ride with you because he’s black and I called you a racist.”
“You know what,” said the hippie, “fuck you. We’re out of here. Let’s go find
“Just keep driving ‘til I tell you to stop, boy.”
The car pulled away, leaving me and red pen standing alone outside of the McDonalds.
“You know what?” I asked.
“What?” prompted red pen.
“I don’t think you’re a VP of Finance at all.”