Starbucks stores do inter-establishment transfers from time to time when supplies are low.  One Monday morning we made a pretty even trade with another store in the area for some mocha.  We were going to throw some syrups their way, or something.

I was up front that day, so I was in charge of meeting the other store’s partner and sorting out some stuff.  Not a big deal.  The guy shows up.  He’s nice. All smiles.  He said that he needed a signature from my manager.  I turn to the bar area, and I yell without thinking,

“Hey! The Mocha Man is here!”

He was black.  Instantly, this sensation went up my spine.  I remember thinking, “Oh, fuck. Please don’t beat my ass…” I turned to him immediately after I realized what I yelled.

“Not like because you’re… you know. Because you brought the mocha.  You bring the mocha.  Wait, no. Ugh. I’m sorry.”

He just laughed.  It was obvious that I wasn’t trying to call him out for being black.  He was honest to God bringing us mocha. I just felt awful for that.  It would be like me, for some random reason, taking a bag of beans somewhere and the clerk yelling,

“Hey, y’all! The beaner’s here!”

As much as I think of myself a frijolero, I don’t think I would appreciate that.  So, to random black dude I called Mocha Man. I’m sorry again.

Is this what white people feel like all the time? Awesome.


One thought on “Racist”

  1. Fucking hilarious, man.
    People are just too goddamn sensitive when it comes to these kinds of things. It is not that serious.

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