Early this week I committed a serious faux pas.
It’s funny, really, that through my youth, and then my college years, all the time I was immersed in progressive literature, identity politics and activism, I would find myself in the most diverse environment I’ve enjoyed yet at an entry-level job in whitebread middle America. But then, it isn’t so surprising. The local paper reports monthly that the Latin@ population is rising (dangerously) and the black population is rising (dangerously) and it also reports on all of the (dangerous) changes this is doing to the community. The south and east Asian populations are rising as well, but this is reported as tied to industry and university and thus isn’t quite so (dangerous).
And so I feel lucky that my department at work is quite diverse since it breaks up some of the Hoosier redneck ocean I bob in. Though comprised mostly of women, my department is about half women of color, as are my immediate superiors, supervisors, and go-to people. A—-, my right-hand person at work (although I’m possibly her right-hand person), is also a woman of color, and after several months of working closely with her with the public quite a bit of our regular conversation is about casual racism. The public we deal with tends to be the locally disenfranchised — lower income, comprised of the elderly, people of color, and often the mentally ill — and we run into casual fits of bigotry often enough on the job. Too many people openly ignore her, or are hostile with her, some sporting the confederate flag, some complaining about welfare queens and other ridiculous stereotypes, some snidely commenting about the need to learn English already if you want to live in America. That’s not all. My co-workers of color, as I am often in the minority listening in, often talk amongst themselves about the targeting they experience outside of work, the ridiculously unfair run-ins with the law, the harassment their children receive from school officials, the casual dismissals, and less casual dismissals. I’ve learned a lot in the past year that I could never learn from my university textbooks, just by hanging out and listening, interacting and making friends through the odd mash-up of corporate work and personal interests.
Some of this is why I don’t write so much anymore about feminism. Racism is a more pressing topic at work. So is classism. We’re dealing with it at home as well. Chef is adjusting to life as a young, broke, first-time parent navigating our yuppie school system as an outsider. Ethan experienced his first bout of casual racism resulting from carrying an Asian name, from another Asian kid no less. Hell, a few weeks ago I dragged a friend to Ethan’s one-week-late Thanksgiving pageant, a celebration of the beautiful friendship between the pilgrims and Native Americans, told from the pilgrim point of view, and from the cheerful POV of a turkey that was about to be slaughtered and eaten at this wonderful historic feast. Because of home and because of work, my family members’ points of reference are shifting, and all of this lends some perspective to the way we experience, well, everything. Blogging was once my way of connecting to a world that was unlike my own, but now I get a little bit of that every day. As Ethan grows up, as Chef edges more and more into my experience, as I edge more and more into others’, our sense of justice shifts. In many ways we are all experiencing new kinds of discomfort and judgement from new peer groups, and if you’re a hopeless, political romantic, kind of like I am, this bullshit I have to deal with, that my family is learning to deal with, is a series of learning and of experiences, and I well know that it will continue, and that I’ll continue to say and do some ignorant shit in the face of it.
Which brings us to Tuesday morning, wherein my fellow lackey, whom we’ll call A—- for privacy purposes, was bitching at our other immediate lackey S—- for submitting to my wishes and turning on an old episode of Pee-wee’s Playhouse while we worked. S and I tried to sell the show to A, and since we’re technically in sales, came up with all sorts of ridiculous means for selling the high points of the show.
“I don’t know why you want to watch that old pervert in the office,” smirked A. So S and I argued that in the age of celebrity coochie flashings and sex tapes, Paul Reubens crimes were comparatively tame. He’s practically a saint!
“And look! It’s Cowboy Curtis!” I pointed to the TV and A chuckled and rolled her eyes. “No, really, look! It’s Samuel L. Jackson!”
A looked at me. “That is not Samuel L. Jackson.”
“Yes it is!” said S.
“Look at the screen!” I said. “It’s Samuel L. Jackson!”
“I’m looking at the screen and that’s not Samuel L. Jackson.”
S backed me up. We insisted and insisted that Samuel L. Jackson was on Pee-wee’s Playhouse.
“Look at it!” I told her.
A looked at the TV and then back at me. “I told you I’m looking at the screen and that’s not Samuel L. Jackson.” She cocked her chin and smiled. “That’s Larry Fishburne.”
The blood drained from our faces.
“That’s all right,” A said. “We all look alike anyway.”
And then she laughed and laughed. For the rest of the day, every time a black man walked in the door, she’d poke me and say, “Look! It’s Samuel L. Jackson!”
I was what you might call embarrassed.
Yesterday I arrived at work a little later than usual. Due to the job itself, I have to arrive about fifteen minutes early in order to be prepared to meet and deal with customers on a face-to-face basis. I arrived bitching at myself for cutting the time so close, and when I neared my work area I heard A and S excitedly saying my name. When I rounded the corner, a camera flash burst in my eyes.
Did you know that December 21st is Samuel L. Jackson’s birthday?
Well, it is.
We left the decorations on my desk all day. Other employees kept trying to wish me a happy birthday, and were then confused as to why we’d celebrate the birthday of Samuel L. Jackson at random. The only explanation is that my co-workers will go a really long way for an in-joke. And hell, I asked for it.
At an estimate, I would say that 50% of Augustlet’s friends are children of color, including his two very best friends. This took place without specific input from us, since he started forming these friendships at age 3 when he started preschool which hit us before we thought to get beyond the “setting an example” method.
(Not saying everything’s perfect; this is a child growing up in America, after all. But certainly he’s gotten a headstart on the path of anti-racism.)
They used the PERFECT photo of Jackson for that. Oh, love.
I forgot that Pee Wee’s Playhouse had an all-star cast. Which is sort of irrelevant to the point of the post. On the point of the post: Damn. At least it got resolved in a funny way.
Thank you so much for pointing out how “Thanksgiving” is actually a Day of Mourning for Native Americans and not some innocuous example of how nice and subservient “colored people” should be to whites. I know it was embarrassing for you but I just have to say it: Your co-worker’s response to the Samuel L. Jackson incident was pure genius.
An argument about race is not complete without some backup from your other white friends, but all I can give you is that Cowboy Curtis could possibly be an arguably reasonable choice for playing a younger SLJ in a low-budget made-for-TV movie.
And that feels like kind of a stretch. We’d have to be much better friends before I’d be willing to make that argument out loud, to other people, as though I actually believed it.
Well, truthfully, all of the white people I told about this tried to argue that it’s easy to mix up Samuel L. Jackson and Laurence Fishburne, whereas all the black people I mentioned this to said, “Yeah, we all look alike, right?”
There’s a lesson in that.
This post should alternately be titled: Anti-Racist White People Say the Darndest Things.
INTERIOR: PLAYHOUSE, DAY.
Conky: R-R-Ready to assist you, P-P-Pee-Wee!
PEE-WEE: Do you have today’s secret word, Conky?
[CONKY MAKES A SERIES OF MECHANICAL NOISES WHILE SHAKING, AND A SLIP OF PAPER EMERGES FROM HIS CHEST, WHICH PEE-WEE TAKES.]
PEE-WEE: [SHOWING THE PAPER TO THE CAMERA] Today’s secret word is “WHAT”! And you remember what we do when someone says the secret word?
ALL: Scream!
PEE-WEE: That’s right! When someone says the secret word, we scream real loud!
DOOREY: Someone’s coming, PEE-WEE!
PEE-WEE: Who is it?
[COWBOY CURTIS ENTERS, PLAYED BY SAMUEL L. JACKSON]
ALL: Hi Cowboy Curtis!
COWBOY CURTIS: Well howdy there, Pee-Wee! What are y’all doing?
[ALL SCREAM. COWBOY CURTIS, NOTICABLY STARTLED, REACHES FOR HIS SIDEARM.]
PEE-WEE: You said today’s secret word, Cowboy Curtis!
COWBOY CURTIS: Pee-Wee, I’d knock that shit off if I were you.
PEE-WEE: We’re eating hamburgers, Cowboy Curtis! Want to join us?
COWBOY CURTIS: [RELAXING SOMEWHAT] I can’t usually eat ‘em ’cause my girlfriend’s a vegetarian. Which more or less makes me a vegetarian, but I sure love the taste of a good burger, Pee-Wee.
PEE-WEE: Here! Have one!
[COWBOY CURTIS TAKES A BITE.]
COWBOY CURTIS: Mmm-MMM! That IS a tasty burger! I hear they don’t call them “burgers” in France, though.
GLOBEY: [POINTING TO FRANCE ON HIS GLOBE-HEAD] France is right HERE, Pee-Wee!
COWBOY CURTIS: Check out the big brain on Globey!
GLOBEY: Would you like to visit France, CC?
COWBOY CURTIS: What country you from?
[ALL SCREAM]
GLOBEY: What?
[ALL SCREAM]
COWBOY CURTIS: “What” ain’t no country I know! Do they speak English in “What?”
GLOBEY: What?
[SCREAMS CONTINUE. COWBOY CURTIS TAKES OUT HIS PISTOL, HOLDS IT TO GLOBEY'S HEAD.]
COWBOY CURTIS: Say “What” again! C’mon, say “What” again! I dare ya, I double dare ya motherfucker, say “What” one more goddamn time!
[SCREAMS NEAR-CONTINUOUS]
COWBOY CURTIS: [to the playhouse gang at large] I thought you were gonna be cool. When you yell at me, it makes me nervous. When I get nervous, I get scared. And when motherfuckers get scared, that’s when motherfuckers get accidentally shot.
[AS IF TO ILLUSTRATE COWBOY CURTIS' POINT HIS GUN GOES OFF ACCIDENTALLY, SPLATTERING GLOBEY'S BRAINS ALL OVER THE WALL BEHIND HIM]
COWBOY CURTIS: Jesus Christ Almighty!
PEE-WEE: This is horrible! I wish you hadn’t shot Globey!
Jambi: Did somebody say “wish?”
[PEE-WEE RUNS OVER TO JAMBI'S BOX]
PEE-WEE: Jambi, I’m so glad you’re here! I wish Globey was alive again!
JAMBI: Is that your wish, Pee-Wee?
PEE-WEE: Yes, it is!
JAMBI: Very well then. [Jambi's gaze drifts off to the unseen horizon, and he starts speaking as in a trance.] Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you. The wish is granted. Long live Jambi.
[Jambi bows with his head, retreating back into his box, which closes.]
GLOBEY: What happened to me, Pee-Wee?
[ALL SCREAM]
COWBOY CURTIS: You should be fuckin’ dead now, my friend! We just witnessed a miracle, and I want you to fuckin’ acknowledge it!
Can I crown you with laurels now, Chris Clarke?
“Well, truthfully, all of the white people I told about this tried to argue that it’s easy to mix up Samuel L. Jackson and Laurence Fishburne, whereas all the black people I mentioned this to said, “Yeah, we all look alike, right?””
But they look NOTHING alike. I mean…Samuel L. Jackson is Samuel L. Jackson and Lawrence Fishburne was Morpheus! They look about as much alike as Paris Hilton and Julia Roberts.
So, yeah, I think you know some weird white people if nobody can tell them apart (and I’m white).
Anyway, I’m jealous that you got to have a Samuel L. Jackson themed birthday party.
They were probably just thinking of Jackson in his role as Easy Reader on the Electric Company. Easy mistake to make.
/backs off quietly with bucket of popcorn
it’s a good friend who will respond to that sort of faux pas by laughing at you, rather than by cooling off and keeping you at a distance from that point onward, which would be a totally understandable response. i’m happy for you that there are such good vibes as your place of work - i think there’s something like that going on where i work too, although it could use a tiny bit more looseness.
being the typical sagittarius i put a hoof in my mouth at least four times a day, so stories like this both make me wince and also make me smile.
Count me in as another white girl who thinks that homeboy** looks NOTHING like Samuel L. Jackson, but I have a hard time telling celebrities of the blonde (white) variety apart, so I can’t blame you too much.
I told a (black) friend of mine that he reminded me of some (black) famous person, and that was his response, too — “we all look alike, don’t we?” But honestly, it would’ve been more awkward had I compared him to, say, Brad Pitt, right? Or if he had compared me to Queen Latifah…
**These days I refer to everyone as “homeboy,” though perhaps in a post about black-people-all-the-same it doesn’t look that great.
As far as the ‘unbearable whiteness of being’, what about that game of Quiddler several weeks back??
You most certainly have an awesome set of co-workers.
If you had taken me up on my suggestion that you watch the Matrix trilogy, none of this would have happened. Which I suppose is a bad thing, as you’ve been enlightened.
There is Morpheus and then there is Samuel L. “You can’t kill ME motherfuckers!” Jackson.
Morgan Freeman! (Easy Reader). I only found this out recently, via YouTube, and I can’t cope with it, which is why I am moved to comment…. It seemed so surreal to find Freeman in that context. He is such an authority to me: I completely associate him with Presidents and God.
I imagine I’d pay money to see Freeman read a phone book, so I spent some time Learning to Read ia YouTube.
Fishbourne and Jackson don’t look the same to me, but I had a hard time figuring out the difference between Basinger, Stone, and Griffiths in the early 90s. NOW I realize the difference, but then it was a source of embarrassment on more than one occasion. I think I got Carly Simon in there somewhere too, via Warren Beatty. A gaggle of slender blond women.
I hate to sound defensive here, but must every case of mistaken identity between people of color have some sort of “we all look alike, don’t we?” racial subtext? Now, I do think Lawrence Fishburne and Samuel L. Jackson do look different enough, and maybe that was the basis for that particular quip in this case, but I don’t think that applies in every case.
Happy Christlessmas! Hope you have a safe, happy, holiday!
It sort of blew my mind to see Apocalypse Now after having seen Pee Wee’s Playhouse and have it slowly dawn on me that Clean was Cowboy Curtis.
I blame the mullet.
Ouch. Your friend sort of wins for her response to that, seriously.
If it makes you feel any better, an Asian friend of mine just mixed up Judi Dench and Maggie Smith.
hey lauren, i’m assuming you’ve seen this website:
black people love us!
and have a merry xmas!
Heh.
At my local movie house, they run trivia on the screens before the movie starts. One of the questions is “Which movie is Samuel L. Jackson not in?” The choices are The Matrix, Star Wars Episode III, and Pulp Fiction.
I have a hard time telling celebrities of the blonde (white) variety apart
All of them, or just the young and female ones? Because I think young blonde female celebrities tend to look rather less diverse than young blonde female non-celebrities, but the same isn’t so true for men.
It was a great response, Lauren, and a great post too — loved this bit:
As Ethan grows up, as Chef edges more and more into my experience, as I edge more and more into others’, our sense of justice shifts.
And I regularly mix up lots of people — Cameron Diaz and Gwyneth Paltrow don’t really look alike, except in Hugo’s universe.
“Well, truthfully, all of the white people I told about this tried to argue that it’s easy to mix up Samuel L. Jackson and Laurence Fishburne, whereas all the black people I mentioned this to said, “Yeah, we all look alike, right?”
There’s a lesson in that. ”
I’m going to actually defend the other white folks here: they didn’t confuse Fishburne with Jackson.
The two are as different as chalk and cheese, and neither of them could be confused with, e.g., Cheadle, Washington, Smith or Snipes. In fact, the combinations of those guys who could reasonably play each other’s roles are few and far between (though if you have not seen Waterdance, don’t assume that Snipes is as limited an actor as his action roles would suggest).
All your white friends are trying to make you feel better for confusing two highly dissimilar actors. They figure you’ll feel better if it was an easy mistake to make. In fact, I think that’s worse. It could only be an easy mistake to make if it was casual racism. It’s as hard a mistake to make as confusing George Clooney and Brad Pitt. Which could only be a brainfart — and we’ve all had brainfarts.
The thing is that he really doesn’t look like Samuel L Jackson - he looks like the love child of Samuel L Kcajson and Jeff Goldblum.
In fact, the more I look at that picture the more he looks like Jeff Goldblum.
Damn it, R. Mildred! He DOES remind me of Jeff Goldblum now that you said it. Of course, I never would have thought to compare the two.
Back in 1994, I was a painfully shy 9th-grader in an all-black (almost, everyone in the class except me was black) typing class with a black teacher. At one point, I think as a well-meant attempt to bring me out of my shell a bit, since I never talked to anyone, all the girls in the class plus the teacher started talking about what actresses I looked like. At one point, one of them shouted, “I know who she looks like! She looks just like Jodie Foster!!” Which statement everyone in the class, including the teacher, declared to be obviously true. Now, if I could post a picture here, you would see how funny that is. What jodie foster and I have in common is that we are white, female, and brunette. That is all. I look NOTHING like Jodie Foster, and when I have told white people that story, they all laugh, because I am so obviously not Jodie Foster. But it was obvious that to the girls/woman in that classroom, I certainly did look like her.
(Which is not to say I’m making a reverse racism claim (god I hate that term) nor suggesting that the implications are comparable. But it is true that people of all groups have an easier time recognizing people of their own racial/ethnic backgrounds, and when taken in good faith can result in hilarity.)
Lauren, you don’t think the good ole boys in Indiana are real rednecks, do you? If so, I’ve got some people here I want you to meet…