OWG: The Overly White Gangsta

We get these guys all the time.

The Gangsta-wannabes.

Shaved heads, Chinese-symbol tattoos, 8 pounds of fake gold-colour-plated bling (wannabes can't afford real gold), NBA jerseys, pants down around their knees, sideways hats, and a ring in every pierceable spot possible.

And of course, the one common thread that binds them all together.

They're white.

Let me tell you something: there is nothing more annoying than another dude claiming to be a part of a culture that is not his own, that his people will never be a part of, and have never been a part of. As a man, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, worse than pretending.

I think this holds true for a lot of cultures: whites generally don't like it when other whites act like hiphop gangstas; there are blacks who don't like it when other blacks speak like white guys (such as every member of the Huxtable family); and Latinos don't like anyone who listens to Ricky Martin and dares to call it Latin music.

I look at these kids and think, who are you kidding? You weren't raised in a ghetto. You're a rich kid from the suburbs who thinks that pretending you're from another culture, one you obviously know nothing about to begin with, somehow makes you look cool.

Hey, just be who you are, be comfortable in your own skin and your own shoes. That's the definition of cool, fella.

Because you know what this whole little wannabe act makes you look like? An idiot. Especially when you begin to speak.

"Yo yo yo homie wats up see I gots thz numba cuz I'm lookin' fo' thz 'ere buk fo' my schoolin', an' my ho needs a computa 'ere, too-pac. Can y'elp me or wat, homie?"

The guy is spitting as he talks. Removing the inch-long chunk of metal from his tongue would probably help. I consider removing it forcibly, but then I remember that as a city employee I would have to fill out a requisition first, wait for it to go to committee, debate the pros and cons, wait for it to go to senior management, finalize a budget request, have the budget approved, then schedule the process to begin on a date six weeks after the initial request (which is standard procedure for all city requests, no matter how 'urgent' the sender claims the request is). I doubt this guy is going to hang around that long.

"Yo, beotch, could you 'urry it up a bit, I gots this ho 'ere waitn fo' ma black ass."

He actually said "ma black ass". I decided that telling him he was white was too much for him to wrap his mind around. Sometimes it's better not to rock someone's universe, and to instead sit back and enjoy the show.

"You're looking for Where The Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein?"

"[something illegible due to tongue-ring spitwads]. Yeah."

"Great book. You're kid will love it. I know I sure did when I was a little guy."

"Yo man no babies fo' me yo I ain' got none if da ho get pregs I cap 'er, ya know?"

"Sure you will. So the book is for you, then? Cool."

"Shhhh homie, not so loud, man!"

"Hey man, it's a great book. I should read it again, too, sometime. If the teacher wants you to read it out loud, you should probably take out the tongue ring. Some hard-to-pronouce words in there, or at least, they were difficult for me when I read it ... twenty years ago."

"Awwww, man ... [something spit-marred that I can only assume was cursing] ... mofo teacher, man. Makin' us read kidz books n sheeit."

"I'm sure it's fun for all ages. Like I said, I want to read it again too. I should take it out myself next time my cousin's kids come to town. I'm sure they'd love it, too."

"Man ... [to the girl] come on babydoll, let's ride."

"Y'all come back now, y'ere?"

Yeah, they're all the same. While following me to get the book, he almost tripped over his pantlegs - twice. I honestly have no idea what's holding his pants' waistline up around his mid-thighs ... nor do I want to know, for that matter.

Although it would have been fun to have a magnet handy. The amount of metal in this guy's face, I could have dragged him around the library. I'd love to just walk around the building, magnet held high, with The Overly White Gangsta forced to follow, tripping over his pantlegs every few steps.

Now that would be entertaining.

But not nearly as entertaining as Shel Silverstein. I don`t know why OWG was getting so beligerrant; Where The Sidewalk Ends is a work of genius. I never did find out whether he liked it or not, but I imagine he thought the drawings were pretty neat.