by Amber Ruffin
At this time, mall security comes up and says, “It’s best if you leave.” Even though they took nothing, they still got kicked out of the mall. Infuriatingly believable. They walk out the mall entrance, turn the corner, and walk right back in the JCPenney entrance. They think they’ve taken this girl to a secret room, but it’s no secret to Lacey. Lacey marches right down to the shoe department and knocks the secret knock on the secret door that looks like a wall. The very knock we have been doing and laughing about for the past year. As soon as she does, the door swings all the way open. She sees the entire security staff sitting there. Everyone turns to look at her, a-frigging-ghast. The shocked look on their faces is priceless. Lacey launches into her tirade.
“Do you know how I know this door is here? Do you know how I know your little secret knock? Because you bag of assholes did this to me last year. You spend all your days in this cave finding people to harass. And I know that’s what you’re doing because if you were concerned with stopping theft, I wouldn’t have had this many run-ins with you after never having stolen in my entire life. It has to be on purpose because you couldn’t be this bad at your jobs. If you’re going to continue to conduct yourselves like JCPenney is the Wild West, I’m going to need some names.” Everyone refused to give their name except the supervisor.
This time the good lawyer was unavailable, so she ended up with a horrible lawyer. JCP admitted no wrongdoing and offered a fifty-dollar gift certificate. The opportunity to shop and be watched like a hawk by a bunch of cave dwellers? Sigh. There was once a news piece about how a lady who was stopped and searched in a store in front of everyone got a million dollars. Doing the math, I think they owe Lacey fifty eleven billiondy dollars.
The point of those stories is: JCPenney had some of the best sales in all of retail. It’s so good that we know this is gonna happen and we still go. I can remember being followed around in more than one JCPenney. Their clearance is, like, Kohl’s-level good. I would do almost anything for a four-dollar shirt. And before you say “You shouldn’t give them your business,” let me just say, “FOUR-DOLLAR SHIRTS.”
I Find This Hard to Believe
This is a collection of stories that Lacey can tell her friends or people who know her well. They are certainly not impossible to believe, but they do sound like a fun lie. This shit would not fly with strangers. You would think she’s lying. She is not. We are gonna move a little more into the stories where there is a real disconnect. A lot of these stories will highlight what is likely to happen to you when you’re the only Black person someone has come in contact with.
And, as you read this book, you should know my life is great. Aside from my shitty jobs, I have a happy life with great friends and a great family. It’s just that, every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, someone says something insane to me.
You’re Wrong about the Black Experience. Let Me, a White, Tell You about It
So, there’s this thing you may or may not be aware of. When people who don’t normally talk to Black people end up talking to Black people, they usually do one of three things: talk to you about “Black stuff,” which is anything from actual Black stuff to “I like Savion Glover. Do you?” Or they tell you about a Black person they know. “I have this friend, Marcus, who…” Lots of times, they talk to you like that because it feels good to have had a good interaction with a Black person. I think it makes them feel like they’re not racist. Whatever the reason, they seem to enjoy it. But, lastly, there is the kind of person in this category who meets a Black person and is immediately mad and rude. Never in front of another white person who isn’t their child or wife, but under the right circumstances, these people will talk to you like it’s 1909. I have a theory about why this happens. Now, I don’t know if this is true or not, but I think that the last category of white person sees Black people shopping at the same store, having a mutual friend, or just sharing a sidewalk. And it makes them realize we are the same. And once they lose their perceived upper hand, they fucking freak out. Humans need joy to live. Most people’s joy comes from friends and family, or from hobbies and work, but some people’s joy comes from the idea that they are superior. So my living a life that is better than theirs destroys their joy. They rage against the idea that they ain’t shit. It’s like if someone walked up to me and said, “You can’t pull off high-waisted slacks and a crop top.” It would change my very idea of myself. And I would hurt their feelings so bad. I would wreck them. Simply wreck them. And they would deserve it.
We say all that to say that, sometimes, people see a Black person and panic and just say the first thing that comes to mind. Lacey had just met a white coworker and she was like, “Why is she talking to me?” Then the coworker told her that she had a Black fiancé and Lacey was like, “Oh. That’s why she’s talking to me.” She said she was jealous of our skin because it was always smooth and soft. “I just love the feel of your skin. I constantly have to apply lotion to my skin or it just gets so dry.” Where did she learn that Black people’s skin comes naturally moisturized? Does she not know the opposite is the stereotype? Has she never heard of ashiness? Or did she—and this is the most likely—see two Black people who had a lot of cocoa butter on and assume it was natural? Whatever the reason, it’s cool that she thinks that. When she said this, Lacey just let her think it. We’d like to encourage everyone to Start Fun Black Stereotypes (tm)!
At this same job, Lacey was talking to a coworker and mentioned how someone had mistaken her for a director who worked in another building. Of course they mistook her for her; she was the only other Black lady at work. Luckily, Lacey was here first. ’Cause one of us is getting called the other one’s name. You may not know this, but, in many cases, nothing is harder than adding the name of a second Black person to a white person’s mind. I was the second Black actress at my theater and I still respond to the name Holly.
My friend told me a story about how when he was three years old, there was only one Black family in the neighborhood, the Johnsons. And whenever he saw Black people in the supermarket, he’d point at them and shout, “Look, it’s the Johnsons!” His family would be embarrassed and apologize. But he was three! Grown men and women do that every single day. They assume you’re related to the other Black person they know. Someone somewhere is doing it right now! When people say to me, “You know who you look like?” I’m always livid ’til they finish their sentence with “Lacey Lamar.”
Aww.
They actually say I look like “a young Lacey Lamar.”
People tell me “You look like what Amber Ruffin would look like if she was cute.”
Shut up.
Anyhoo, the coworker had never met this individual but she had heard them talk about the lady Lacey is always mistaken for and how she had a bubbly and upbeat personality. She then said, “That director is Black? Weird, I never would have thought that because normally, Black women are serious all the time.”
Did you feel that? In one sentence we completely understood who this woman is. We have no way of knowing this, but I believe we all just pictured the exact same woman. Let me check. Lacey, is this woman the type of person who says things like, “Mic drop,” “Thank you for coming to my TED Talk,” “I’m one hundred percent that bitch,” and stuff like that, but like, dead serious and years too late?
Yes.
And, does she have one of those faces where it looks like one of her eyebrows is raised in disgust all the time? But it’s not, that’s just her face?
Yes.
Okay. That was a fun experiment.
Stories about white people getting Black stereotypes wrong are confusing. It’s like, “How did you come to that conclusion? But also, it feels refreshing not to hear the same five stereotypes over and over. SO I’M CONFLICTED. Like this one: It was Lacey’s birthday and she was juuuust getting lulled into a false sense of security by her coworkers. It had been a while since any real racist event. And the number of high-level racists was really down to only one. Ellen
. Everyone was fine, but Ellen was like, “Do you like having hair like that? You guys think it’s fun and not gross, right?” Just the worst of the worst. Out-loud ignorant and kind of proud of it and full of dumb questions. But other than her, things were great! They were even giving Lacey a birthday potluck! Each of her coworkers brought something and made a pretty nice spread! Lacey was determined to have fun even though Ellen was there. One bad apple isn’t going to spoil this bunch. Besides, it’s Lacey’s birthday! Plus, they worked hard to do something nice for her. Excited, Lacey thanked them and grabbed a plate and got to eatin’! As she was putting food on her plate, her least-favorite coworker, Ellen, yelled out, “Oh my god! She did choose the salad!” Lacey stared at her, bewildered. Ellen then explained that as they were planning the potluck, there was a discussion about whether they should even bring salad because she didn’t think Black people ate it. She had “never seen a Black person eat salad before.” Okay. This is the behavior we all expected, and Ellen at her worst can’t stop the fun. Lacey was like, “Ellen, that is a crazy thing to say.” But she looked around and most of her other coworkers were nodding their heads in agreement. They didn’t think Black people ate salad. They didn’t think Black people ate SALAD. Salad. Sal. Ad. It made Lacey a little sad but it also was a harsh reminder not to get too comfortable at work.
Another head-scratcher: Lacey was at a meeting at work and at the time there was a very high-profile missing-persons case involving a white woman. Someone brought up the case at the meeting and talked about how women aren’t safe anywhere anymore. Lacey agreed, and a white woman at the meeting said, “Lacey, you’re safe, no one is going to try to mess with a Black woman.” You already know Lacey was the only Black person in the room. She told them Black women go missing all the time. Her boss rolled her eyes and said, “Black women get kidnapped?” and everyone laughed. In that moment, Lacey prayed to be kidnapped but no one came.
Trying to Win Over Her Racist Art Teacher: An Impossibility
Lacey was in the fifth grade when she met a teacher who would help her better understand racist people. Well, not really understand them as much as be able to see them coming. Okay, so Lacey was always great at art. She has always been able to draw really well and, if it’s possible, we are going to put some of her little-kid art right here:
Yes, that is a picture of El DeBarge. It was drawn when Lacey was eight years old. Yes, he is worth googling. Yes, Lacey wanted to marry him. Yes, she still wants to marry him. El, please be in contact. So Lacey was in fifth grade and it was time for their first art class. Lacey was thrilled because, earlier that week, she had just drawn her most beautiful work to date: a life-sized pastel portrait of Leif Erikson. No, he’s not worth googling.
For a book report, Lacey had to draw a picture of a famous person. She chose Leif Erikson because we had a book about him in the house. (Mom and Dad went to the book auction down the street once a month and would buy big bunches of books. You never knew what you were gonna get and it’s why we all have at least one random hobby. Belly dancing, mosaics, sign language. We had books about everything. And they also had all kinds of art supplies because they used to have a day-care center. A kid’s dream place to grow up, really.) So Lacey, instead of drawing a regular-sized picture like every other child did, drew a giant, life-sized pastel of Leif Erikson. She worked on it all weekend and knew it was the pinnacle of her life’s work. She had never felt pride like this. It was so stunning that the teacher entered it into an art contest at Omaha’s art museum downtown and it got first place. Everyone was so proud that the teacher put the drawing on display for them to look at every day next to the chalkboard.
In walks their new art teacher, who we will call Mrs. Art. Now, Mrs. Art was a big old meanie. She was short, stubby, and had what I’m pretty sure was a severely permed mullet. She wore moccasins and long beaded necklaces. She seemed like a hippie. If you were judging her based on her looks, you would think, This lady has been to a sit-in or two; she knows what’s up. But her behavior did not match her exterior. This woman was hateful.
Mrs. Art greets the class and walks right up to the chalkboard. Lacey is thrilled. She’s going to see it! She’s gonna see Lacey’s beautiful drawing she worked so hard on! Mrs. Art writes her name on the board and just so happens to look Leif Erikson right in the eye. She walks over to him and turns to the class.
Did your teacher draw this?
No. I did.
That’s a lie. There’s no way you drew this.
She grabs the life-sized portrait of Leif Erikson off the wall. She looks Lacey in the eye as she rips it in half in one long motion from his head down to his crotch. She crumples up the two halves and throws the whole thing in the trash. In a silent rage, Lacey gets up and walks out of the classroom, past the principal’s office, past the secretary, and right out of the school. No one stops her because she is such a goodie-goodie A-plus student. She walks down the street in shock, crying her eyes out. She gets home sometime between eleven o’clock and noon. She remembers that little detail because mom was watching The Young and the Restless. She comes in the door and Mom turns around and asks, “What are you doing here?” Lacey explains what happened. Mom takes her right back up to school. At this point, Lacey has been gone for thirty minutes.
Mom has a meeting with the principal and Mrs. Art. Who knows what was said in this meeting, but Mrs. Art comes out and gives Lacey an apology.
But instead of feeling discouraged, she thought, Maybe I can win this lady over if I just work hard enough. After all, she’s the art teacher and I love art. We have to get along! This is one of the first times the way someone looks does not match up with how they behave. It’s a pivotal moment in Lacey’s life because if you couldn’t judge people based on what they look like, her racism spidey sense would have to develop. And develop it did! She didn’t know this then, but Mrs. Art was one of those “women are the n*****s of the world” type of people who want so desperately for white women’s suffering to outweigh the suffering of Black people. You know—one of those.
Throughout the school year, Mrs. Art says all kinds of doozies. She would call Black students “colored” or “negro.” Now, Lacey was a bit young to know that if you use these words, you’re for certain a piece of shit. But she soon figured it out. Mrs. Art treated the white students one way and the Black students another. It all came to a head during an art project called Animals from Africa. Mrs. Art showed her true colors when she told the class that slavery was not as bad as it seemed. It made white people look bad, but having slaves was nothing but peer pressure. “If your neighbor had slaves, why wouldn’t you want to have some, too?” She said that to a room full of fifth-grade Black and white children. This woman called slavery a result of peer pressure. Is this what white people think? Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t ever want the answer to that question. Lacey knew then that it was okay not only never to get this woman’s approval, but also to dislike her.
Many years later, Lacey was working at a retirement home. Usually, residents have visitors weekly or monthly. Many times they make friends with other residents. But sometimes they don’t have visitors or make any friends. One day, Lacey is walking through the common area and finds an old lady who is alone and confused. Lacey decides to talk to her.
“Hi! How are you today?” As she looks at her, the woman doesn’t respond. She’s just staring off into space. Lacey realizes she’s talking to Mrs. Art. Over the months while she’s there she’s rude to the staff and mostly confused, but what strikes Lacey is that she never sees her make friends with any of the residents or have any visitors. No one ever comes to visit her and, to make things even worse, she dies alone. This mean old lady who was pretty darn horrible seems to get her comeuppance. It doesn’t feel good. It’s not even what fifth-grade Lacey would have wished for her. It’s simply a case of bad things happening to bad people.
Quotes from the White Lady at Work Who Hates Lacey for No Reason1
At her corporate job, L
acey once had a coworker who was nice to everyone but her. She had a very fun disorder that made her immediately say the opposite of whatever Lacey had just said. Each time, she refuted Lacey’s statements loudly, proudly, and with a little bit of snark. Eventually Lacey started to write down all the instances because of the level of amusement it brought her.
Everyone having a fun lunchtime conversation about their favorite holidays:
Lacey: I love Christmas.
Lady: I hate Christmas; it’s just Jesus’s birthday. Why all the gifts?
This lady would always talk about bringing people to her Zumba class with her:
Lacey: I do some personal training. I’m always in the gym exercising.
Lady: I hate exercising.
Midwinter on a twenty-degree day:
Lacey: It’s cold outside.
Lady: It’s not cold. It’s not cold right now.
Other People in the Room: Yes, it is cold.
