“What are you?” -every guy in a bar, ever
Now residing in Los Angeles – or more specifically, Marina Del Rey – my days have been equally messy as I attempt to make my mark on every corner of the city of angels. In Santa Monica, after celebrating St. Patrick’s Day accordingly at an Irish pub, I supposedly indulged in alligator tacos. I cannot for the life of me explain why that happened, but I can tell you that earlier that night went a little something like this:
Eric: “Here, I bought shots for you guys, three each. Take them.”
Me: “All three in a row? But I’ve already had a few drinks-”
Eric and Randall: “LOSER! I thought you could hang! You’ve gone SOFT!”
And so I took those three shots. And then apparently ate alligator. (Note entry on why postgrads can’t drink.)
Things took a turn for the even more questionable when I awoke to this romance novel by a future Craigslist killer:
Me: “This is a daily occurrence, yes.”
This was apparently after we talked for upwards of five whole minutes. But hey, bonus points for spelling my name with two n’s! Minus points for being a poor judge of character and thinking I’m cool.
Besides attracting men who clearly don’t love themselves, the night was typical in one sense: I had randoms grilling me about my ethnicity. If you’re a friend or acquaintance and for whatever reason knowing my genetic makeup is particularly important to you, then sure, go ahead and ask. But nothing is worse than being at a bar and having some plebeian think, “You’re so exotic. What are you?” is an acceptable conversation starter. Responding with American/female/human/internationally-ranked chess champion never seems to satisfy them, either.
You think I’m exaggerating, but I had three different people ask me that question at Fluxx alone on Joi’s birthday. It’s to the point that I sometimes wonder if my ethnicity is the answer to some international crossword puzzle I just don’t know about. And if I don’t respond immediately after they ask me, strangers love nothing more than supplying their own guesses.
The most common ones I get are:
- Spanish
- Brazilian
- French
- Italian
- White and 1/5th Mexican… yes, I literally got this verbatim
- “Whatever the Kardashians are”
- Vaguely Middle Eastern
But really, it doesn’t matter what you guess, because I’ll always say you’re wrong and that I’m clearly North Korean. So exotic, right?
The Art of Being Basic 