Last month, our whole office flew out to LA for a big event the magazine was putting on. Four of us caught an early 6AM flight out of JFK: another salesperson, our graphic designer, our editor-in-chief , and myself. Traveling with the editor was also her partner. We'll call her Chastity.
Chastity really reminds me of Bev Bighead from Rocko's Modern Life:
So it's about 5:30 morning. We're flying Virgin America, which operates out of an international terminal at JFK. The security line is a surprisingly long line for an early Thursday morning. Every few minutes, an announcement made alternately in English and Spanish comes over the loudspeaker announcing "10 minutes...", "5 minutes...", "last call", etc. for a JetBlue flight headed to San Juan.
The line is excruciatingly slow so this disheveled lady at the end starts forcing her way forward. Sweats pulled up past her waist. Jansport backpack with HelloKitty iron-ons. Thick glasses, unkempt hair, bit of a mustache. Obviously a little bonkers, so people just let her pass.
The JetBlue announcements keep coming and a few others begin to follow the baglady's lead. The trickle becomes a stream becomes a torrent as more and more people begin to jostle for position.
"What's the point of a line?" my coworker mutters aloud, voicing a mutual sentiment. Then Chastity responds with a bombshell.
"Well, they are Puerto Ricans," she says with a chuckle.
Interesting... an awkward pause follows.
Then a lady beyond us shouts, "You know, there's one of them behind you." A Puerto Rican standing in line for a flight to Puerto Rico. Who would've guessed, right?
I'm sorry to report there wasn't more of a scene after that. I would've liked to see Bighead Chastity get her rumble on with this lady. Instead she pretended not to hear, and the situation "resolved" itself with a contemptuous "fucking bitch" from the lady followed by 15 minutes of awkward silence.
On the bright side, that jingle was right: the best part of waking up is racism in your cup.
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