The Racist: Part Two

I didn’t quite know what to make of the new flirtatious nature of my note buddy. I took it as charming and cute at first but by the second day of him trying to flirt, things got uncomfortable. I didn’t want to avoid my regular seat and I really did like talking to someone. I just hoped he’d pick up on normal social cues. You know, the silent cues that mean “get the heck away from me; I don’t like you like that”? I thought everyone in the world knows those cues, but nope. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Everything started to get worst quickly. My note buddy passed me a note and I opened to find the following message:

“So have you ever dated an Asian guy?”

Now here in this story, I might need to mention that my gangster note buddy was Asian. I didn’t mention it earlier and realized that now, it’s an important part of the story.

            So, how did I respond?

            “No.”

To which he wrote:

            “So, why not? Are you racist?”

Really? My friends and family know that this is not true in the slightest. So, one, the fact that he asked me if I was racist is hilarious and two, realizing that he was still attempting to hit on me makes it that much more funny! At the time however, the situation just got even more awkward.  How on earth was I supposed to respond to this?

            “No.” I wrote once more.

            “Well have you ever dated anyone who wasn’t white?”

            “No.”

            “So you are racist!”

            “No, I’ve just never been asked out by anyone outside of my race. I’ve only dated three people…”

            “So, would you be opposed to dating or going out on at least one date with an Asian? ;)”

             “Well, I have a boyfriend. So, sorry I don’t think it would work.”

             “I don’t believe you.”

            “Ok, you don’t have to. But I do. He goes to another school.”

            “Well, when’s his birthday? What’s his favorite color? When did you meet?...”

This was followed by a series of similar questions. Apparently, I was being quizzed on my fib. Luckily, I passed with flying colors as I just used all of Mr. Granola’s information. Phew.

            I changed seats the next day and never sat next the The Racist again.