Conversations

The following exchange took place outside a warehouse store. I can identify only one of the participants: myself. (Full disclosure: I faked a heavy Italian accent throughout.)

SHE: Excuse me, sir, are you an American citizen?
FWP: Si, si! Since before last year.

SHE: Did you vote for Trump?
FWP: E bene, I did. He build grande edifici! Bellissimo!

SHE: Would you call yourself a racist?
FWP: Mi scusi? Is a word I don’t know. What means?

SHE: A racist is someone who thinks his race is better than others.
FWP: Ah, si. Better in all the ways?

SHE: Well, not necessarily all ways. But the ways that matter.
FWP: Oh, so he thinks his race is better at the important things. But people, they disagree about what’s molto importante, no?

SHE: Well, yes, I suppose, but—
FWP: But let’s say there’s these three guys behind a...a tenda spessa, a curtain, and you have to assign each of them to one of three jobs. The first job is running a little shop. The second job is raising a family of sei bambini, six little children. The third job is playing the pro basketball. How do you assign the guys to the jobs?

SHE: Unless you were to tell me more about these guys, I’d have to do it randomly,.
FWP: Bene, bene. The first guy, he’s white. The second guy, he’s Asian. The third guy, he’s black. Now go.

SHE: What? I need to know more than that!
FWP: Mi dispiace, is all I know. So, what assignments, then?

SHE: Well, I suppose I’d have the white guy run the shop, the Asian guy raise the kids, and the black guy play basketball.
FWP: Molto bene, so would I. But why?

SHE: Because...uh...
FWP: Thank you for teaching me this fascinating word, this racist. Ciao!