Lip Service – a short excerpt from The Approximate Distance To Limbo

Big Scene…
Georgia didn’t like playing the racial card too often.

It’s not that she didn’t think racism was wrong. She knew it was wrong the same way she knew it was wrong for people to condemn and make jokes and otherwise belittle women or atheists or bisexuals, all of which she was, though she was still getting used to that last one. She knew it was wrong, and she knew it was wrong to tolerate it. The thinking went, if you don’t stand up for your kind when someone calls them down or accuses you of being too sensitive to some tasteless joke, then you leave it up to the privileged few, and those who others who wish to be counted amongst said privileged few, to grow a conscience on their own, which almost invariably never happens.

Maybe that was why she chose that day to cold cock the racist asshole director who had just called her an oversensitive fat nigger dyke. She was pretty sure she was even supposed to be proud of standing up for overweight women, and she supposed she was, though she was actually pretty happy with her body these days. She was a little hefty round the middle, but her breasts were amazing, kind of like her girlfriend’s. Andy had taught her a lot about accepting who she was and being proud enough not to take demeaning shit from someone just because they’re an oversensitive, homophobic closet case with a tiny dick and no imagination.

Georgia had always thought she was pretty proud of her color and her heritage, but it took her snow white princess girlfriend with the minor in sociology and women’s studies to clarify some stuff for her that she hadn’t even realized she did. She was leery of people who used the old ‘I’m not a racist; I hate everybody equally, regardless of color, creed or sex’ claim. But it was Andy who taught her that she couldn’t stand aside or walk away when people started talking like this.

Georgia had fought her way up the ladder in a business that was still dominated by privileged white men who had control of thousands of lives and budgets that could feed entire cities if they weren’t using it to instead create fantasy entertainment carefully designed to mollify the masses of underprivileged white men who knew something was wrong, but didn’t know they were supposed to blame the rich white men selling them steroidal Horatio Alger power fantasies. Instead, they went around suspecting that underemployed women, Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Muslims and Jews just as poor as them were somehow the real reason they were poor and powerless, and that only by stepping on the heads and hands of everyone around them could they get above the glass ceiling and finally be counted amongst the important people. The cycle was a little more subtle than it had once been, but the same message was there for anyone to see if they looked.

The problem for Georgia now was that, though she thought she had penetrated the glass ceiling, she was learning that some white assholes thought it was wrong, and were determined to put her in her place. She’d been called everything in the book at one point or another, from uppity bitch to black slut, and over the years had grown a thick enough skin to let it all slide off her back. It was Andy, sweet white middle class-raised Andrea Adams, who was teaching her not to simply blow it off like it wasn’t important, like it didn’t demean and break her heart a little bit more every time.

Of course, Andy was also a pretty, young, chubby, white, bisexual, know-it-all slut, but Georgia was learning to love every easy loving inch of the girl. She just wished Andy could let go of her hurt over Richard Fucking Burley.

© 2012 Lee EdwardMcIlmoyle

Don't be shy. Tell me what you really think, now.

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