EBT in Harlem

Some people just do not want help of any kind. Especially from white people.

Having read a few horror stories of helpful white people mercilessly killed by the black people they were helping, I thought dying in a similar way would be an easy risk to avoid for the simple fact that I do not like to help anyone.

But I am a slow learner.

Last week I was in Harlem at the infamous 125th Street and Lexington Ave 456 stop (the original K2 corner).

I stood at the counter patiently waiting my turn as the cashier rang up another customer’s order total of $36.

“What are you doing?!” screamed the shocked customer. “Why are you charging me $36?! It’s *just* two sandwiches!”

(Nevermind that the cashier was doing this customer a favor by ringing up his hot food with EBT.)

For the sake of transparency, the cashier took out the additional items that the customer bought (a can of pringles, a large green organic juice, an orange soda and a bag of Cheetos) and announced the price of each one.

The customer was outraged. “It shouldn’t cost that much!” He held up the organic juice: “This shouldn’t be $4!!”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, this is a bullshit price for a bullshit juice, we agree; but that outrage wears off after you get the taxes taken out of your first paycheck and realize that ‘overpriced juice’ is only the first identifiable injustice of capitalism.

This clueless moron was in another league however, as an example of a spoiled homeless New Yorker given $900/month in free cash. He wasn’t grateful for this money, he was unchanged and was throwing an embarrassing tantrum like a 5-year-old. (He probably grew up without a father.)

Once more the cashier announced the price of each item again, including the two sandwiches and the two orders of fries that the customer ordered in addition.

“I don’t want this stuff!” The grown man whined.

The cashier replied with frustration: “The money is off the card! It can’t go back!”

The customer’s tantrum intensified, and he reiterated: “I don’t want it!”

The cashier rolled his eyes, opened the register, and threw two five-dollar bills at the customer. “Take your food and get out!”

Perplexed, the customer stared at the two bills and started counting on his fingers. “He only gave me ten! The sandwiches are $12!”

“He did you a favor,” I said stupidly, thinking I was doing a favor by being an impartial interpreter. “He gave you the money back. He didn’t have to do that.” The cashier’s face displayed complete indifference at my interjection on his behalf.

The customer looked at me, his face curled in anger. “What’s $24 plus $10?” he asked earnestly.

I stammered because I can do simple arithmetic and knew where this short conversation was headed. “It’s…uh….it’s $34….”

“He charged me $36! You stupid fucking cracker,” he screamed. In that moment, my life was reduced to the 21st paragraph of a lengthy article about “white supremacy.” I realized that no one would save me in that deli, not the other bored looking patrons or the indifferent cashier.

The customer continued his retarded abuse shouting, “I should crack you in the motherfucking face! Remember where you are! You are in our neighborhood!”

The casher shouted, “Take your food and get the fuck out! You can’t come back here again! Get the fuck out nigger!” (He was Arabic, so the other patrons didn’t even look up from their phones with this slur.)

Lesson Learned

The Arabic cashier could not be “racist” because he was non-white, a fellow minority with no history of oppression against people of color (on this continent).

If he had been white, not only would he be a racist, but the entire place would get justly trashed and ransacked by the clientele because of “white people’s historic injustices against people of color.”

As the only white person in the store just trying to calm tension using reason, I received the hatred that “historic injustices” allow.

I didn’t even really want to help that retard, I just wanted him to shut up. Now, I’ll just bear the annoyance. My life is worth bearing that annoyance.

At least it is to me.