I’ll call her Cindy, the Cute Blonde Racist. Now say that three times and look at your closest mirror… PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE WHAT! Enjoy the delicious concoction while reading this post.
My friends and I were dressed as an assortment of characters: Red Riding and the wolf, Robin Hood, secret agent, tuna sushi (that should be a pop star name), and Woody from Toy Story. I greeted my co-worker Evan, the host of the party, and he proudly showed off his Archer shirt. “It’s the easiest costume of the year,” he boasted.
Fast forward. I find myself chatting with a group of strangers, all of whom turned out to be Evan’s old high school classmates. “What are you guys dressed up as?” I asked the two girls that were half my weight. They had sparkly temporary tattoos on their face and wrist, the sort with arrows and bold lines like you’d find at any Urban Outfitters or Pinterest. Both had their long hair curled at the ends, smoky eyeshadow, and loads of mascara. Black Northface jackets. Cindy wore a leaf crown drowned in glitter.
“We’re Indians!” the brunette said. Oh.
“Ohh,” I strained. I couldn’t tell at all. What part of their outfit was ‘Indian’? Then Cindy started to giggle madly. Her friend and I huddle towards Cindy curiously.
“I know none of us are Asian,” she whispered in secrecy. “Because none of us are Asian. But look at that Asian guy dressed as a cowboy.” I followed her pointing finger to my friend, who was minding his own business.
“He’s Woody,” I explained. “I’m Asian. You know that, right?” The brunette seemed a little worried. Cindy pretended she couldn’t hear me at all despite us standing centimeters apart, and she wouldn’t look me in the eye.
The highlight of my night: when I teased my friend about texting a girl all night and he said, “Nah, you guys are more important.” Locked his screen and that was that.
P.S.: At least I didn’t run into these guys.