So, I’m riding up in the elevator with my headphones on, and notice some white guy wearing merely a polo, with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of khakis is riding the elevator with me. I mentally note how odd it is that he is not wearing any sort of jacket in this despicable April cold. During the ride he keeps turning to me as if he is about to speak, but waits for the other passenger (a black girl in a down winter coat like myself) to leave before yet again turning to me and eventually saying something. Unable to hear, I pause my music, remove the headphone from my left ear, and ask what he said.
"You’re really bundled up," he tells me.
Snickering, I reply “yeah, and you’re not covered up at all.”
"It must be a black thing," he replies while smiling, and then hastily adds "—not to sound racist or anything."
"It must be a black thing," he repeats, smiling wildly.
"To wear a heavy jacket when it’s cold out?" I ask incredulously.
By this time, thankfully, he is on his floor. He steps out, and we watch one another as the doors close on our unblinking gaze. He had still been grinning up until the very end, albeit not as widely by this time.
This is your conversation starter with me at 2 AM, random white guy? America, bye!
Ken Price, Venus, 2000. Photo by Fredrik Nilsen, courtesy of LACMA.
I don’t know, but I like.
adorableness incarnate. this lil reptile’s got swag for days. WERK!
(Source: , via doktor-gonzo)