(the following is not a rant, I am merely bemused beyond belief)

So I’m minding my own business, inking in the next RA strip, bouncy because my cruise art was just delivered and my cell phone rings. I don’t recognize the number.

Me: (in my work voice) Hello?
Person on the other end:[mumble mumble slur mumble]
Me: I’m sorry, I believe you have the wrong number.
PotOE: (slightly more coherent) Is this Dwight?
Me: There’s no one here by that name.
PotOE: (no very clear) No, I said ‘are you white?’
Me: … Uh, yeeees.
PotOE: Oh, sorry, I’ve got the wrong number.

Now just wait a cotton-pickin’ minute! They called me, unintelligible, and I figured out that this wasn’t someone I knew. Granted, the people who have my phone number are predominantly Caucasian, the people who misdial and call me by accident do have a certain dialect to their voice (what I can understand of it) but just because someone is ‘not white’ it doesn’t automatically mean that they have the wrong number.

I just, I can’t, I don’t… no! I mean, really, is it a crime to answer my own cell phone just because I happen to be White? And what if I wasn’t. You know, if I had the composure and swiftness of mind of my friend blb I think I might have been tempted to fuck with them a bit and say I was not, in fact, white. What would have happened then? Would I have been accused of being uppity for having clear diction and no discernable accent (it should be noted that while the drawl does appear from time to time, generally it only does so when I’m on a roll, drunk, with friends, or all of the above). Seriously?

Anyway, this far trumps anything else I might have had to say today, so it became the blog. Enjoy and beware, my white friends: your skin color apparently dictates whether its a wrong number or not.