You'll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey

by Amber Ruffin

  “I know.”

  They laugh and right before Tish leaves, she says, “I’ll pick up the doughnuts next time.”

  There is no next time. That week, the boss tells Tish her clothes are too tight, and she tries to explain the concept of “policing Black women’s bodies.” It does not go over well. She quits.

  The Doll

  Lacey used to be the program director at a retirement home. It was fun and the people weren’t racist at all. Just kidding. It was hilariously racist and she looked for another job every single day. This retirement home was designed to look like a cruise ship and when you first come in the door, there’s a big gift shop with stuff old people like. Magnets, wind chimes, dolls, stuff like that. One day, Lacey notices that among the lily-white dolls is a new Black one. It’s right in the center of the store. You can’t miss it when you walk in, both because for some reason this gift shop thinks these dolls are the prized jewel of their stock and also because one Black face always stands out. We all know no one is ever going to buy that doll because there are no Black people in the home and, even if there were, they’re probably not gonna want a doll.

  As time goes on, different employees take turns going, “There’s a doll that looks just like you, Lacey!” Now, there’s only one Black doll. We all know which one they’re talking about. Also, Lacey does not look anything like that doll. And there are a lot of baby dolls that she looks ***exactly*** like (it’s the forehead). But this one ain’t it. Everyone has something to say:

  “You left your baby in the gift shop!”

  “Hey, Big Lacey, I just saw Little Lacey!”

  “Didn’t I just see you in the gift shop? How’d you get here so fast?”

  That one’s actually not bad.

  With each dumb comment, Lacey grows to hate this doll. Every time she passes by the store, she can’t help but look at it and think, No one is telling all you white people you look like these shitty dolls. And you actually DO! So she gets sick of Black Doll Jokes (tm) and does what any normal person would do: she puts the doll in the back of the gift shop so it’s not the first thing you see as you walk by. The jokes slow down and, aside from everything else, it gets better.

  After a while at this job, Lacey finally finds another place to work. She gives her supervisor her resignation. She’s sad to lose Lacey. But she tells her to not make any decisions until tomorrow. Lacey says okay even though there is nothing on earth that could keep her at this job.

  The next morning she comes in and you already know what she finds on her desk: that motherfucking doll. Along with the doll is a card that says, “There’s always a way.” Her boss thought the doll that she hates would make her realize that she needs to stay with them. That she could not have bought the damn thing for herself. That her buying it meant she really knew what Lacey liked. That she would feel appreciated. She comes into Lacey’s office talking ’bout some “Here you go, Lacey! Bet you don’t want to leave us now, huh?”

  I want to slap her in the mouth, but instead I say, “Thank you. My resignation stands.”

  This doll remained hilarious in our family until we realized it looks exactly like our niece! Now the doll is the funniest thing that has ever happened.

  Your H-H-H-Husband Is W-W-W-White?

  Lacey’s white then husband, Jim, left his ID at a bank. On her way home, she picked it up for him. At this point in the book, I hope I don’t need to tell you it was difficult.

  She went into the bank, walked up to the teller.

  Lacey: Hi, there. My husband left his ID here today. I’m wondering if you could check your lost-and-found for me?

  Teller Lady: Of course! Don’t you worry. This happens all the time! My husband is real forgetful, too! What would they do without us?

  Lacey: Nothing, because they’d be lost!

  The two share a laugh.

  Lacey gives her his first and last name. This woman picks up a small box with a bunch of IDs in it. She looks through the box. “Sorry, I don’t see it.” Lacey repeats his name. She looks through the box again. As she’s looking through all the IDs, Lacey can see Jim’s ID. “It’s not in here.” Lacey repeats his name again and watches Teller Lady look through them. This time, Lacey realizes, the teller is not looking at the names, she’s looking for a Black man, and there are none. She has her search one more time for fun before she tells her, “It’s right there.” The teller replies, “Your husband is white? How in the world do you get along?”

  You guys. Y’all. You guys. People. This woman asked, “How in the world do you get along?” I’d love to say I said some great eye-opening smart remark but, frankly, that shocked me. I hadn’t heard that one before. “How in the world do you get along?” Wow. It’s bad when it comes out of nowhere, but it’s also pretty bad when you know darn well you’re dealing with a racist person from the get-go.

  Yes! Like, for example, Lacey’s apartment hunting with Jim. They were meeting at an apartment building in a perfectly normal neighborhood. Not very fancy. Not very much of anything. A fine place to live. Jim lets her know he’s gonna be late, so Lacey goes ahead in, alone.

  As soon as she walks into the office, she can see that the man behind the desk wishes she hadn’t. But that won’t stop Lacey from being her nicest! It has been a happy day so far, and once this guy sees what a good time Lacey is, she is certain this guy will come around.

  “Hello there! I was wondering if you have any—”

  “We don’t got nothing.”

  The man was mean and slightly angry. There are all kinds of racism. Most people are racist in a quiet way or a scared way, but some folks are racist in a “How dare you be Black at me” way. I’ve never fully understood it, but this guy was one of those. Lacey turns away and goes back to the car, ’cause she has a plan. Jim shows up.

  Lacey: The guy in the leasing office was so rude to me! I got a feeling he does have apartments but just didn’t want to show them to me because I’m Black.

  Jim: Great. Let me go in there and hurt his feelings.

  Lacey: No. Go in, be normal, and see if they have apartments.

  So he goes in there. He’s gone for a good ten minutes and when he gets back, he tells Lacey that the man could not have been nicer to him. He told him, “We got a bunch of available stuff.” He even showed him a place.

  After Jim reports back to her, she busts back in the office with him and says, “This is my husband, you raggedy racist! Trust that you will be hearing from our lawyer. I hope you didn’t like this job.” The guy gets fired and the apartment complex offers them a place at a discount. They decline.

  Gone Baby Gone

  At what might be the most racist job of all time, Lacey actually got to work at the same place as a few Black people. Yay! This place is ninety percent Black staff/ninety-nine percent white directors. There are a lot of Black nursing assistants who work with the residents. All staff, from directors on down, sometimes bring their kids to work! The residents love it, and it’s a regular occurrence. And on this day, a Black CNA, let’s call her Nala, gets permission to bring her child to work. This child, like many others, has been to work before. She is a cute little three-year-old girl, perhaps as well behaved as a three-year-old can be. At the beginning of Nala’s shift, a white supervisor comes out of her office and says, “Oh! I can take your daughter into my office while you finish your work.” Nala takes her up on it and says, “Thank you!”

  Now, this white supervisor is a nosy nancy in a very bad way. She’s privileged, and can’t understand the community she works in. The climate of this building is racist to the following degree:

  I found out later that while she was gone, a few of the CNAs saw the white supervisor loudly reprimanding the baby and “snatching her up.”

  Nala returns to check on her kid in under an hour. And when she does, the office is shut, locked, and empty. Now, this facility is huge. It’s the size of three large apartment buildings put together, so where do you even begin to look for a three-year-old? Nal
a makes her way through one building, then through the next. This search takes two hours.

  That is two hours too long. Can you imagine not being able to find your child for two hours?

  No. I don’t have children.

  Okay. Can you imagine not being able to find your margarita for two hours?

  I would die.

  Exactly.

  Meanwhile, in baby jail, the white supervisors and a few shit stirrers decide the baby has a mysterious bruise. As a result, they call CPS and 911.

  Now, this is the part of the story that sounds wholly unmotivated and impossible to believe. Why would this lady call the COPS on a mom for absolutely no reason? But remember what racism is? It makes reasonable people insane.

  When Nala comes around the corner yelling, “Somebody better tell me where my baby is!” the police see her and instantly know who she is. “Ma’am, come with us. We know where your baby is.” They take her to a room containing her baby and four white people, all directors. They let her know the deal. They think there’s a bruise on this baby and have called CPS. This woman stands there and calmly says, “They’ve had my baby for almost two hours. Two hours ago, the baby had no bruises.” The police take the baby from the boss and hand her to the mother. Luckily, the police agreed with the mom and said, “We don’t know where this bruise came from.” I am ashamed of myself when I think about how happy I am that this lady didn’t get her baby taken away. But I can’t help it. This lady could have lost her child because these people were bored. These people kidnapped a baby, bruised her, and called the cops on the mother. Let’s tell this tale differently:

  Four Black people take a white child in a room and hide her for two hours from her white mother. Maaaaan.

  Footnotes

  1 Faster than Flo-Jo? Usain Bolt? Which sprinters are you familiar with? Please email me your answers at getonwithit@shutup.com.

  There’s Nothing I Can Say to You to Make You Believe These Stories,

  but Here They Are Anyway

  You made it. You made it to the last chapter of the book. These are stories that I feel are extreme for any number of reasons. Some because they are so structurally perfect and some because they’re so brutal. So let’s finish this book off with a potpourri of racist nonsense!

  Lacey was with a coworker, let’s call her Buttface. Just kidding. Let’s call her Vanessa. I’ve always liked that name. Okay, so, Vanessa, who just so happens to be a buttface, and Lacey have to pick up supplies for a party at the retirement home. There is a party supply store not too far away. It’s the one Lacey always goes to. It’s BARELY in a Black neighborhood. Vanessa flat-out refuses to go. “It’s in North Omaha and it’s too dirty! I don’t want to go to a dirty store!” Guys, there’s nothing wrong with this store. It’s perfect. Lacey has been there a million times and, even though she loves a deal, she does not do dirt. Also, Vanessa has never been to this store. She only doesn’t want to go because she thinks Black people will be there. That’s the level of buttface we are dealing with here. But, okay, if you wanna go somewhere else, fine. Looking on the bright side, she’s not going to be around any Black people saying crazy racist things, so that’s a plus. And she’s driving, so who gives a rip! Lacey assures her she is wrong and agrees to go to her store. This woman proceeds to drive to her store. Now, it rarely takes more than twenty minutes to get anywhere in Omaha. But Vanessa gets on the interstate and drives for a while. After a while, Lacey asks, “Where are you going?” This woman replies, “A great store in Iowa!” Iowa. That is a different state. She would drive to a different state rather than just go to a store in North Omaha? Okay. This store better be good.

  Y’all. You guys. People. Folks. Y’all. You’re not gonna believe it. You know how earlier when you read the phrase dirty store you thought, That’s odd. Stores can be cluttered or low quality, but not dirty. Man, I thought the same thing ’til Lacey showed me a picture of this Iowa travesty. This store was comically dirty. Cluttered? Yes. Disorganized? Yes. But also full of actual dust and dirt on the floor and on the merchandise. Lacey was shocked. So shocked that she took pictures of the stores so you could see for yourself.

  Here’s the North Omaha store:

  And here’s the Iowa store:

  One October, everyone at work is discussing Halloween costumes. It’s a really rare, nice conversation where everyone is talking about making bunny ears or how to paint your face like a cat, and Lacey is appreciating it. Fun fact about Lacey and me: We love holiday dress-up! Red on Valentine’s, green on Saint Patrick’s Day, and shoulder pads on Anita Baker’s1 birthday! There was even a thing in Omaha called River City Roundup where you would come to school dressed like cowboys. It was the cutest day of the year. Anyhoo, they have such a nice time in their conversation that they decide to dress up for Halloween at work! Cute! Fun! Nice! Then one of Lacey’s coworkers, Bea, says, “I think I’m gonna dress up as an African voodoo priest!” Boo. Not fun. Bad. She goes on to explain how she is going to paint her face black and put a bone through her nose. And, just like that, a rare happy work conversation turns back into the usual nightmare. Lacey says, “You cannot do that.” The woman goes on to explain that she once went to a wedding whose theme was African Voodoo Priest. “They all dressed up like that!” Now, I know that racism runs rampant in America. I know that white people love crazy Black stereotypes. I know they can’t see how it may be wrong to put a bone through your nose, but, y’all. A wedding? Lacey cannot believe it. She goes to their boss and explains what happened. The boss is livid. He says, “Blatant ignorance like that on display at my workplace? Absolutely not.” He storms into the room where everyone is gathered and says, “All you racist SOBs are fired!” Did I get ya? Did you believe me for a second? Ha ha! Sorry. It’s just fun to do. That didn’t happen. Lacey did tell her boss, not because the boss would do anything, but because it was the right thing to do. So the boss does nothing and the woman comes to work with her face painted black and a bone through her nose. Lacey took a picture of her and texted it to me and we aren’t allowed to put it in this book. And, honestly, that’s for the best. Pretty bad story, but here’s the kicker: Bea’s husband is a Black man.

  4-H: Why Did I Ever Think Coming Here with My Child Was a Good Idea?

  This is the story of the first and last time Lacey took her child to a place where she knew she might encounter racists. Okay, so for those of you who don’t know, there’s this thing called 4-H. It puts on an event like a county fair—sort of. You know that thing where kids compete to see who has the best goat or see who can hog-tie a pig? Country stuff like that. It’s a big event with a lot of people and everyone has fun.

  Lacey used to work at a girls’ home and she would take a big group of multicultural teenagers to the fair, and they’d all pet cows, have a caramel apple and a generally giggly time. The teachers would wear green polos and the children would wear white polos. Even though most of the participants are farmers and their children, they were seemingly okay with having an array of minorities from the girls’ home there. They went every year, and Lacey knew exactly who to talk to. Some of the farmers delighted in seeing the girls and talking to them about their livestock. A lot of the people were so nice that Lacey thought, That’s what I get for thinking these girls would be unsafe at an event like this. Shame on me. We think the reason everyone was so nice is that, even though the farmers and country kids were not what I like to call “interracially socialized,” they liked being like, “Look, girls from the girls’ home, this is a sheep! We shave its wool like this and blah blah I’m teaching you poor souls” kind of deal. Also, Lacey was okay bringing the girls from the home there because she knew she wouldn’t have to worry about them having to take shit from anyone. Side story:

  At the girls’ home, Lacey would sit in the back of the classes sometimes to keep an eye on things. The teachers would sometimes have them watch videos in their classes. They were always unbearably boring except for this one perfect day. The teacher, an old white lady, i
nsisted they learn about musicals! Lacey was so happy to watch something at work that she would’ve been watching anyway. Lacey and I love musicals. Fun fact: The top three movie musicals are:

  Dreamgirls

  Flower Drum Song

  Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

  Don’t press me on that. I said it’s a fact. Anyway, this PBS special about the history of musicals is narrated by Julie Andrews! Yay! It starts in ancient Greece and goes through England and gets to vaudeville, at which point Lacey thinks, Uh-oh. She realizes they may see some blackface. Now, these girls have been shit on their whole lives and they fend for themselves. If this old white lady shows them a special that glorifies blackface, a fucking well-deserved riot is gonna break out. Lacey is sweating bullets. Then, much to her dismay, there’s a whole section about Al Jolson, the famous blackface guy! (I wanted to spell-check his name but I won’t for fear I’ll have to look at some crap.)

  Vaudeville blackface acts, like most blackface acts, were where people painted their faces black and pretended to be buffoons. One famous blackface act is a farmer looking for two Black people as they hide in the chicken coop. The farmer yells, “Are you guys in there?” And the Black guys yell, “Ain’t nobody here but us chickens!” ’Cause they were sooooo stuuuupid. Blackface helped white people devalue Black people and see us as a bunch of idiots. I don’t want to get into why blackface is bad. No one who thinks it’s good got this far in this book. But if you liked this paragraph, please keep an eye out for my next public-speaking engagement called “Blackface and the Origins of Black Comedy.” It explores the effect the white gaze has had on the representation of Black people in mainstream comedy. It’s available by getting in a time machine and listening to what I scream into my pillow between 2005 and 2010. Back to the story.