Friday, July 9, 2010

I'm the Bean, and you're not

When I last worked in retail, my co-worker and I developed a nice personal relationship. We were "friends." We're still friends, actually, but this was all so long ago that it feels like another lifetime ago. Anyway, he specialized in crafting new names for me, all based on that old standby, "Irene the Bean." I became Beans, Beansie, Beanser, "Irene the Bean - She is Patrick's Queen," and other silly names. (He had nicknames for other people in the store. All of them were silly, as nicknames should be.)

(My nicknames for him: "Old Man," "Grampa," and "Dumbass." Needless to say, more than one person wrongly assumed we were either a) married or b) having an affair.)

One day we were in the back room, with a bunch of other co-workers, shooting the shit, and he was teasing me about something, and then he called me "Beaner."

Here's how I replied,

"Hey, I know you don't mean anything racially insulting by that one, Whitey, but you might want to think twice before calling a Mexican 'Beaner.'" 

I love making a roomful of people laugh, especially when it's at someone else's expense.

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