These Tortillas Taste Like Racism: A Journal
I went to Baja Fresh to grab dinner Thursday after work, and was struck by the racial diversity in the restaurant. I've seen Crash, so, needless to say, I was well aware of the potential hotbed of activity into which I'd thrown myself. Would I get out alive?
The girl behind the counter that takes my order is Mexican. In fact, all the employees are. Is there some kind of work-release program for illegals? Check on this later.
A black man brushes by me while I stand in line. Is that a knife in his pocket? Why's he wearing a cap? Is that a disguise? Maybe it's gang-related. I edge slowly away. I see he has his son with him; are those stolen Timberlands? Man, this place is a deathtrap.
I see another black guy sitting in the corner. Maybe they're here to watch the Spurs game on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall next to the salsa bar. Typical.
The action on the TV cuts from the game to a crowd interview with Steve Nash. I feel a flood of recognition: This is what the Mexicans have been waiting for! Commie propaganda!
Seriously, we're one trash can through a window away from some serious riots here.
Before I saw Crash, I would have just thought we were all trying to grab a late-night taco. But now I know better.
Thank you, Paul Haggis.
Thank you.
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