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          A                 "Write Off"                aNAda #34   A
        A                                                            A
     A                      by Sabazio                 03/30/00         A
 A                                                                          A
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        I move past you and you stare at me looking at you.

        I must be shocked at your appearance.  After all, someone that looks
 like me cannot possibly comprehend your clothes, your piercings, your
 tattoos.

        Who am I but the insidiously labeled enemy you cast adrift after one
 glance at my appearance?

        What do you see?

        I walk in cowboy boots and speak not well, I am a middle class
 Caucasian male.  I have short cropped hair and a Stetson hat.

        What does this mean?

        Your intellectual pursuits are above my grasp and you view my ilk
 with exasperation.  After all, am I not the epitome of everything you
 despise?

        I probably eat meat, I obviously drive a truck, there is no way I
 know anything about theater or arts or music.

        I must listen to country, Garth Brooks perhaps.  My mainstream
 decisions about what I must have to survive are funneled to me through the
 pride and joy of my Sony TV.

        Maybe I even played football... I look the right size and type.  Bet
 I even smack my girlfriend around, after all you might have seen me in the
 tank top T-shirt I like to wear.  Isn't that why they call them "wife beater
 shirts"?

        I am not the type of person that understands how much it hurts to be
 "profiled" or "typed" by just one glance.

        I don't know what it's like to have someone write me off based on my
 appearance.

        Right?

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 {  (c)2000 aNAda e'zine *                         * aNAda034 * by Sabazio  }
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