DISCLAIMER: I'd like to preface this by saying I am not in any way racist. My friends can attest to this in that I really wish I had better dance skills and cooler hair i.e. an afro.. I mean really what if I just started pick combing my hair and busted out those moves?

Anyway, remember that time I solved one of life's mysteries?

If not, check it, then you may carry on....

Today the intensity behind that juicy little nugget of information was played out before my very eyes. The solution to the previous mystery was in fact confirmed, and another mystery was uprooted and solved within a matter of minutes.

I once spent a period of time with a dear African American friend discussing whether or not African American's are capable of blushing. I was perplexed that when I felt embarrassment my red cheeks declared it to the world, but when she felt embarrassment no one knew. She informed me that African American's do not turn red. End of discussion.

Well, today I learned that conversation simply did not cover all of our options. Embarrassment is only one situation in which one would turn red. The other would be when you are very, very angry...say for example if you get between an African American woman and her bacon...

Yup, true story. It happened. Let me explain...

I work at a restaurant. With food. And hungry people. Lots of them.
Now most hungry people are kind.
Select few are NOT.
Take for example the customer we affectionately call "Sunshine".

Note sarcasm.

This woman is tiny but she can pack a punch. When Sunshine comes in we bicker over who has to wait on her because she's always so surly.


sur·ly
   /ˈsɜrli/ [sur-lee] Show
–adjective, -li·er, -li·est.
1. churlishly rude or bad-tempered: a surly waiter.
2. unfriendly or hostile; menacingly irritable: a surly old lion.
3. dark or dismal; menacing; threatening: a surly sky.
4. Obsolete . lordly; arrogant.


She's surliest.

I suppose someone ran over her cat as a youth or maybe she has a serious case of SMS...but either way she is not a nice lady, and she takes life's injustices out on whoever dares to cross her path.

So this morning Sunshine came into the Cafe, and slammed the door behind her. She marched up to the register with her hand on her little denim jumper clad hip and waited.

I wish I could capture in words the way she speaks...she speaks in a demanding tone, assuming that you are either about to fail, or maybe just attack her. She rolls her eyes and huffs and puffs every few words just to be sure you remember that you are wasting her valuable time. She watches like a hawk waiting for an error she can complain about. All these things are captured in her tone of voice...Ever scraped your fingernails down a chalk board? It's similar.

I asked for her order and Sunshine spat "I want a bacon sandwich. Estra cripsy. With egg. And cheese. American cheese. Lightly toast the bread. Whole wheat. Not honey wheat. Lightly toasted. And cut it in half. Triangles. Not rectangles. Estra cripsy, girl. Actually, do you have turkey bacon?"

She would change it after I'd furiously scribbled down everything she'd said.

"Yes, ma'am, we do but I'll have to cook it for you. It will take about ten minutes. Can you wait?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes, very much like a bull before he charges, and says "Just give me bacon."

I assumed this meant to stick with the original order and give her regular bacon, so that is exactly what I did.

You know what they say happens when you assume...

She watched me make her breakfast, paid me, and put the remaining thirty cents in my tip jar, turned on her heel, and charged out of the room well on her way to her next assault.

I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to preparing lunch.


About fifteen minutes later the door burst open, hit the wall, and slammed shut. I looked up startled and was genuinely scared to find that Sunshine was back and she looked nothing short of a volcano about to erupt. Her face was ominous, she was fuming, and I kid you not, her tiny, twisted face was turning a deep, menacing shade of red.

You need a visual.



Well, myth busted, African American's are in fact capable of turning red. Very red. Crimson even.

Too bad lots and lots of angry words are coupled with that color.

Sunshine marched up to the register, stuck out her finger and starting waging it at the exact moment her tongue let lose. She informed me loudly, rudely, and profanely that she had ordered turkey bacon, paid good money for it and gotten back upstairs to find that the unthinkable had happened! There was pork bacon in her sandwich. She called me names, yelled, and told me how useless and incompetent I was, that my mother did not raise me right, and that I was on the fast track to no where because my head was so far up my... Anyway, She caused such a commotion that my boss came running from the back to see what in the world was going on. She proceeded to yell at him too telling him how useless and stupid I was and that he should fire me immediately because of my monumental, grossly unfair behavior. She literally yelled until she got hoarse, at which point my boss held up his hand and said, "Look lady, it's just bacon."

Ah, what profound words.

That's not all he said, but I won't repeat it for the betterment of the community, and for the sake of your innocence.

Sunshine did not like his response.

She grabbed my tip jar, emptied it into her tiny palm, counted out her thirty cents, pocketed it, turned on her heel and left in a huff, slamming the door behind her in such a way that things rattled.

Clearly my boss doesn't know that you do not ever, under any circumstances get between a black woman and her bacon...but boy, I sure do.