I start my day with a 64oz big gulp filled with depression. "Oh right," I'll say to myself. "I'm living in Utah." I get up, shower only for some dickwad roommate to start washing his clothes right as I step in. So, no hot water. I get dressed and step outside. The sun instantly vanishes. Just because I have dark skin doesn't mean I want everything to be dark. The officer that's been assigned to do 24 hour surveillance on me lets out a cheerful greeting. "Mornin' Nigger!" I reply with a "Morning officer". I head off to wherever it is I decide to venture to today. The officer follows me in his squad car. I asked for a ride before but he's been forbidden to give me rides. They're cops, not taxi drivers.
I head to the store, I need to do some grocery shopping. I always shop at the same place because I feel guilty. This first store I visited when I moved in, forcing the manager to hire an extra employee just for me. Sometimes he regales me with trivia. "You know, we're the only grocery store that has a security guard in Utah?" I ask him why that is and he was quite frank with the answer. "Some Black guy moved recently." And then he'd point me to where the fried chicken was. He must be psychic because that's exactly what I wanted. The chicken here is super cheap. $1.79 a pound. Unfortunately, Utah has a "Black Tax" on all purchases so that 1.70 is actually $12.44. Occasionally, I ask the officer following me to buy the chicken and we split the chicken. I get 3/5s for every 1 he gets.
I head straight home. I don't want to cause any trouble. Occasionally, someone will approach my officer with a request. "Officer, thank goodness you're here. My house is being robbed!" a senior citizen lady reported. And he leaps into action, with me handcuffed to his belt so I don't run off. The officer busts into the house and whips out his gun, flashing it in all directions. Once he sees the robber, he lowers it immediately. "Ma'am, you're not being robbed." he informed her, as the robber walks past him, out the front door with an HDTV. "Yes I am!" she insisted as the robber brushed past her back into the house. "Look at that guy. He's white." "So?" "So, he's not robbing. He's just borrowing without asking. I can't arrest him for that." he said, just as the robber punched an old man trying to stop him from taking the last VCR in the country. "And what's that called?" "Just playing around. Boys play rough." "He hit my husband!" she shouted in disbelief. "Listen lady, if I arrested every white person in Utah who borrowed or played rough, our prisons would be too overcrowded. That's space that needs to be saved for spics and niggers." "Speaking of which," the old man said, nursing his cheek. "I want that one arrested for trespassing." "Sure thing, sir." the officer replied. "Wait a minute! I was forced to come here, I'm attached to you!" I defended myself. "There you go making excuses again."
Then I'll sit in jail for a few hours, till the DA comes in with a plea bargain. "If you confess to murder, the state has agreed to let you go without repercussion. The governor's relative just killed her boyfriend again and we need to blame it on someone." I've lost count how many times I've confessed. Once it went over 20 I just lost interest in keeping track. I walk home to my house on the other side of town (remember, they're not a taxi service). Get home, smoke some weed, go to sleep before getting up again tomorrow and doing it all over again.
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