Am in the deepest of deep south. Ate at a Cracker Barrel tonight. Had the catfish, with a side of carrots. My waitress was named Jennifer. She’s 27—told me her husband nearly died in a car accident a while back, and that she’s working extra shifts to make up for lost income. As soon as she said that, I decided I’d give a huge tip.
Then she started talking.
Jennifer visited Los Angeles a few years ago, but as soon as she heard someone speaking Spanish—”I told my husband I wanted to go home. In America, we have one language. Use it!”
Jennifer likes the black people. “If they work hard and take care of their families, I have no problem with them. Look, my manager is black, and I love him to death.”
Jennifer doesn’t love interracial dating. “It ain’t right. I’m not one to yell at other people. But I’d never do it. There’s a waitress who works here who had sex with a black guy, and now she has a mixed baby. Everybody looks at her.”
Jennifer thinks Sarah Palin is peaches. “The way she carries a gun—I love it! But Obama is just stupid. That man clearly is not smart. He’s terrible.”
Is 7% too much?
