August 16, 2007
The company I work for is owned by a middle aged white guy who thinks he has all the angles covered when it comes to the PC (Politically Correct) constraints small companies are saddled with in California. White-owned companies that is. Sure this guy has his wife (she's white) listed as the majority shareholder/owner, so he's got the 51% minority and/or female ownership/management requirement covered for certain city and state jobs, but the more frightening part of the company structure is the management, which in fact is mostly minority. It's majority minority because it helps ensure special tax breaks and an even better chance at those certain city and state jobs. Specifically, the management is hispanic, black and homo, three of the favorite "aggrieved" groups here in what used to be known as the USA. You can't imagine the outrage, misery and unintentional comedy that occurs with this mix of surly self-centered creatures.
As if the management situation isn’t enough, there’s the mix of employees. It’s no exaggeration to say it’s a small core of White male employees holding the whole mess together. One big problem - for the people destroying the US - is that some of us white guys have woken up to the problems, and have been able to identify the people responsible this dire situation. While some people are born to question everything, others have been hit over the head hard enough by reality to wake up, which also means that somewhere there has been a breakdown in the brainwashing. As awareness grows, so does resentment. It doesn’t help the situation at work right now (or in this once great city). One guy sees the signs of the company eventually hitting the iceberg so he goes on the job hunt and bails as soon as something turns up. Another sees the entire state is going under and he packs the trailer and gets the family out of the third world enclave that Southern California has become. Our humble little company actually mimics the state in terms of “population” and “government”.
Diversity along with the immigration mess makes everything harder. These two problems add levels of difficulty to all areas of living that would not be present if racists and traitors in the US Govt. hadn’t been able to pass the Immigration Act of 1965. Believe me, that bill has had deadly effects on all aspects of life in the US and helped set up our problems with illegal immigration to boot. Since then, everything has become more difficult. To kick things off, I'll start out slow with a minor incident courtesy of multiculturalism. One recent morning I needed to call a courier service to pick up some documents and a product sample to take to a firm in Century City. From the accent coming over the phone, it’s obvious the person on the other end of the line is “hispanic”. I tell her who I am and where I am calling from. I tell her what I need picked up and where it’s going. I tell her it’s a rush. For those of you who live or work in Los Angeles, the following will come as no surprise. “Wha’s jor name again?” I tell her. “Ho-kay. We’re pickin’ up from Culver City and going to ju.” No, you’re picking up from me and going to Century City. “Awright. Now whad are we picking up, a packashe, right?” Yes. “Ok. Wha’s jor name again?” I tell her. Again. “Is dees rush or reg-uh-lar?” While I feel like asking her what the Hell was she doing when I was giving her all the info the first time - while she was saying “yeah” and “uh-huh” - I let it go. Why drag things out? It’s a rush and I have to get things moving, now! As time goes by, you’ll soon see enough examples that will prove the terms “rush” and “now” don’t exist in the vocabularies of most blacks and hispanics, they don’t even exist as ideas unless they are committing a robbery, murder or engaging in sex or a rape. In those situations, they quickly develop their own concept of “now” and “rush”.
Anyhow, my problem with the hispanic dispatcher is minor compared to more pressing problems I’ll have at work that day, never mind in the other aspects of my life in this nightmarish city. Those of you not in the mecca of multi-cult probably don’t see things like an inattentive, barely speaks English dispatcher as much of a problem. But you will. Because you will have to go through it. More and more often, until you’re dealing with this type of thing no matter what you do or wherever you go throughout your day. This is the way the country is headed. For now, anyway. Things must get worse before they get better. When the mutli-cult diversity mess hits your town and workplace, the irritating incidents will occur at an ever increasing rate. It starts to happen to you 10, then 20, then 30 times a day during various transactions. You will become at the very least a little unsettled, I guarantee it.
35 minutes later the driver from the courier service shows up. I was alerted to his presence because I could hear someone in the front office speaking with him. That someone is our receptionist, Shanaenae, an overweight starch addicted angry black woman who is perpetually bored with work and irritated with anything that doesn’t involve her being able to get away from her desk to find something to eat. Shanaenae is able to answer the phone in perfect English and transfer calls. Any other words out of her mouth besides “hello” when answering the phone are uttered in ebonics. She also does some filing. It’s always mixed up and wrong, but hey, she’s a two-fer; black and female. The driver is a 35 year old, squat mexican. He's barely 5 ft tall and looks as if he were cut out of sun-baked mud. This "courier" literally speaks no English. The mexican emits some sort of stuttering noise, directing it at Shanaenae who sits behind the counter; “K-k-kcchwaan”. Shanaenae tilts her buffalo head lower and stares daggers at the sputtering mestizo. “Wachoo want?” He’s grinning, but his eyes show is he half embarrassed, half angry that he has to deal with a mayate. Even worse, a female mayate. “Mayate” is a term used by mexicans as a slur against blacks. The mexicans here at work have informed me that “mayate” is more insulting than the dreaded “n-word”, that it’s “…even better to use than nigger!”
Back to the standoff. The mexican holds up a piece of paper with chicken scratches. “Yo... me… go seh… seh…”. Shanaenae is losing what little patience she has for non-food related business. No doubt she was just about to waddle to the kitchen for another free bagel, motherfucker! The whole scene is made funnier because the hapless taco-bender’s shirt has a name patch that says “William”. William? This motherfucker might be named “Guillermo”, which is William in Spanish. But I doubt it. He probably murdered the real William a few nights ago when he and his buddies were knocking over a 7-11 to supplement their salaries and social services handouts. Shanaenae wants some answers. “Wachoo want? I ain’ got all day” The mexican considers the question for a few seconds. He understands! “K-k-kcchwaan!” Having dealt with non English speaking savages for years, at this point, I know what he’s trying to say. That’s when I, Bwana Devil, step forward. “You looking for John?” “Si!” Christ. He can’t even say “yes”. However, I can understand that “K-k-kchwaan” means “John” - or more likely “Juan” to this dunderhead. I look at Shanaenae, she’s shaking her head as she turns away, exposing the mexican and I to a massive, steatopygian ass that threatens to burst through a far too tight skirt.
I tell the little indio I’m John. I go to my desk, grab the packages and take them to the shining representative of the vibrant “New America” being created by the monsters that hate White people.”Here you go, Billy.” He’s really confused. Billy? What the fuck does that mean? Hurry up? Date prisa? Date prisa (dah-tay pree-sah) means hurry up in Spanish. The packages have printed labels. He looks at them. Then looks at his piece of paper with the chicken scratches. Then back at the labels. Then back at his note. Then he looks up at me, as if waiting for the Shaman to wave his mighty magic stick and make the whole thing easier. I’ve been through these bizarre situations so many times I don’t care what happens. If the courier company calls later to tell me “William” is lost, I’ll tell them to get one of their snazzy “bi-lingual representatives” to help William find his way around. I take a look back as I leave the front office. Shanaenae has left her desk and William is staring at me, the same way a dog abandoned on a street corner might do as he watches his owner drive away. Yep. The new slave class for the racist hypocrites that have destroyed America. What a way to kick off the first 45 minutes of the workday.
I understand that this is a long rambling set-up, and I haven’t even gotten started. I should mention that the people I’ve described so far in this long post are among the most competent, the cream of the crop of the “vibrant” peoples that are flooding America by legal and illegal immigration or in the case of most blacks, their high birthrate alone. The US “government” does its part and subsidizes black and latino mothers, whether dad is around or not, whether he works or not. The latinos especially play the game of “not being married” even if they are, to further enlarge their monthly bag of loot from Uncle Sam. Loot paid for by white taxpayers. Throughout “black” and “brown” America, we now have huge areas of public housing, Section 8 housing or Voucher housing. Truth be told, any and all of these types of housing are federally funded incubators.
The posts here will hopefully improve as I gain some experience. I know the situation here in L.A. and throughout most of America will only get worse. For now, anyway. The whole mess is eventually going to grind to a halt and collapse. For those of you in the same boat as those of us here in L.A., I hope this blog helps you blow off some steam. If you have some good stories, go ahead and put them in the comments. Anything good will be posted for all to read.