READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.

april 5, 1997: labels

talking the talk
but not walking the walk

<conceited writer> I am a feminist.

<rebeca> Then why do you act in such a blatantly sexist way?

A couple weeks ago, on a Friday, I needed to drop off something downtown by 5 PM. Because parking is hell in the financial district, I decided to take the the bus. By the time a bus finally arrived, it was 4.45 (I had walked about a quarter there by then).

I had run from behind to the bus stop, and wasn't sure if I was on the right bus, so I sat right up at the front, near the bus driver. "How far down Market do you go?" I was panting, still out of breath.

"To Main Street," he answered, turning, then noticing me. We arrived at the Civic Center, and a large number of Asian Americans started to exit the bus.

"So many damn Chinese," he told me. "They are taking over the city. You know, their numbers keep going up and up. Soon they will occupy all of this area." He gestured to the left, right, in front, and behind, his eyes wide.

My parents, religious school, and the other social programming devices that were used on me as a child set off a common reaction: You are supposed to confront people on their bigotry, they said. I am supposed to confront him on his racism, I told myself.

"Well, they are not all Chinese, you know," I cautiously offered. "San Francisco is populated by people from several East Asian countries. And do you really think that they are 'taking over?'" I tried to look friendly, just making conversation.

"They are Orientals. I'm telling you it's true. Remember the Second World War? Remember Pearl Harbor? The government was right to lock them up. They are dangerous. Can't be trusted."

"Isn't the light green?" I cut him off; his anger had distracted him. I had only 7 minutes to reach my destination. We arrived at Main Street, and I hopped off, happy to to be free of him, disgusted by his ignorance and conceit.

I ran to the building I needed to reach, took the elevator to the 14th floor, dropped off my documents with a smile and a cheery hello, then emerged onto the street again. I was going to walk home, but I was starving, and somewhat in a hurry to get near to food. When a bus approached, I boarded it.

It was the same driver. I gave him a non-hateful look, and proceeded to the back, with the other canned fish.

I exited at Guerrero, crossed market, and looked at the horizon straight ahead of me. From Bernal Heights to Twin Peaks, everything was pink, majenta and purple.

Sometimes I think that the natural beauty of this city is just a shiny wrapper on the ugliness that is contained within. And like with most labels, a list of ingredients should not be taken on face value to reflect indisputably what lies inside.

lucky charm
Year of the Armed Woman
joinIN (if you dare)

thanks, COMOFLOW





or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge

Copyright 1996, 1997 Rebecca L. Eisenberg All rights Reserved.