Whenever I go to the neighborhood Safeway, I keep thinking that there is something funny (funny weird– not funny ha-ha) there I should be blogging about.  But then I pause and wonder if people will think it is as peculiar as I think it is, or if it will get pegged as a quasi-racist comment– something only a very callous white she-devil would say, not thinking of the consequences or weighing the weight of her words.

In other words, is it possible to observe something with no conscious ulterior agenda and pull a Don Imus?

Digression: A man who by the way is deserving all that is coming his way;
how dare he
insult these hardworking girls who are positive role models and who are
doing well for themselves?  While I think that our intense blogging
society is to blame for all these scandals to get out of hand and for people who live in glass houses
to start throwing crazy loads of stones in any and all directions, it’s
become apparent that Don Imus was a pretty nasty person whose hate had
spilled forth on more than one occasion– exactly the kind of person
who does not need to have a national platform in which to spew it.
Personally, I think Snoop Dogg said it best, but you decide. 

*Clears throat*
Hmm… well, for one, there are no nappy-headed hos at my Safeway– just nice, hard-working people who make it nice to shop there.  As a matter of fact, the situation is really on the other end of things.  Let me explain:

Every single time I walk into said Safeway, I am very conscious of one thing.  That one thing, stated baldly, is that I am in a racial minority –probably even more so, since I’m really undercover latina.

And so every time that I walk into that Safeway I am struck by the ongoing soundtrack at the store:  an unapologetically bland and…. downright white mix of  adult contemporary music blaring merrily through the loudspeakers, I have to wonder who really is in control of picking these things, you know?  Do the overwhelming majority of employees want to bash their heads in at the end of a long day of dealing with others’ groceries and snap at the mention of Michael Bolton?  Do they go home and blare some Luther Vandross and chant something about trials and tribulations making them stronger?

I wonder very much about this because the mix would grate on my nerves, even if I like some of the music.  I remember the sheer horror of being stuck at the basement of Macy’s for my first Christmas as a drone, wrapping up everyone’s parcels and getting snide remarks about tiny specks of nothing on seemingly pristine white wrapping paper, while listening to Macy’s own evil mix of carols and holiday-themed choral ensembles and which repeated on loop every three hours and made time flow with the ease of cold Karo syrup. 

And you know, carols can be okay– it’s not like they are solely the domain of families with loads of children or little old ladies who wear sweaters that light up.  I also remember thinking with some fondness, somewhere around November 15th, that carols aren’t really that bad; that a little festive spirit never hurt anyone and that it would be fun to listen to carols while working because I figured time would go quickly.

I never expected to have to deal with carol-rage before December 14th rolled around, but I did.

So you tell me: is it wrongheaded to assume that because you’re African-American you would not like to listen to endless hours of soft rock?  Or is it wrongheaded to think that NO ONE would want to listen to endless hours of soft rock?  Or is it just that they really need to turn down the volume at the Safeway?

Or is it that I’m glad that no one is going to be listening to Don Imus anymore, even if I never did?

Well?

12 Apr This entry was published on April 12, 2007 at 5:46 pm and is filed under Pop Culture. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.