Rodney O. Lain - 2000.02.21
This article was originally published on The
iMac.com, a site which no longer exists. It is copyright 2000 by
RAC Enterprises, which also seems to no longer exist. It is thus
reprinted here without permission (which we would gladly obtain if
possible). Links have been retained when possible, but many go to
the Internet Wayback
Machine.
Too black, too strong.
- Malcolm X
I'm tired. I've been black all day.
- T-shirt seen at the Million Man March
I guess I could sue Apple for emotional duress.
My story begins last month at Macworld San Francisco. I was
walking around the show floor, seeing if I could score any more
goodies before heading home. It was the last day of the expo. I was
in the Apple section - rows of iMacs and iBooks, connected via
AirPort to the Internet. To my right, I see two Apple reps on the
stage, talking up OS X with PowerPoint presentations and rah-rah
cheerleading.
I hadn't seen the presentation in its entirety, so I mosey on up
to the stage for a closer look-see.
"We want to show you why its good to attend our presentations on
the last day of the Expo," one of the two reps said. While he
talked, the other one went behind the curtain, pulling out two or
three big, cardboard boxes. He pulls a T-shirt out of the box, and
unfolds it to show us a big "Aqua"-colored "X" on the front. It was
an OS X shirt. On the back is the text, in small print: "Coming to
a Macintosh near you," along with the black Apple logo and "Think
Different."
You'd think this was a bread line during the Depression.
Immediately, I'm pressed body-to-body by throngs of Mac addicts
jockeying for a T-shirt. They were a bunch of weirdoes, doing all
of that for a measly T-shirt. Only fools would run over one another
to get something so meaningless
What's that? Hell, yeah, I got a T-shirt. What, you think I'm a
fool or something?
I tried to get two, to no avail.
I didn't think anything about that shirt until today, over a
month later
Back of the Bus, Please
Today (Sunday), I was on my way home from St. Cloud, Minnesota,
after a night of Mac-ing out with a fellow Mac lover. I have on my
OS X shirt, bopping my head to the sounds of George Clintons "Do
Fries Go With That Shake?" That's a song from the 1980s, back when
they knew what a lyric was. I go into a fugue state, going through
the motions of driving without much thought.
I'm shaken out of my reverie by the flashing lights behind me.
State Trooper. 70 mph speed zone. Clocked at 80 mph.
"Do you know how fast you were going? You seemed to be in a
hurry."
"Yeah, unfortunately, I know exactly how fast I was going. Sorry
about that."
"You had any tickets before?"
Its been a while."
"Could I see your license and proof of insurance?"
"Well, I just bought this car, and all I have is this note from
my insurance agency."
Time passes.
"I'm gonna give you a citation here. You were going 82, but I'm
going to write it at the 80 mark, since its a lower ticket that
way."
"Where do I go to pay the ticket?"
"I'm gonna tell ya," he says, implying that I should shut
up.
He goes through his spiel.
"I notice that you don't have your license plates on your
Mitsubishi Montero."
"Yeah, they've ordered the plates, and I'm told they'll be in by
Feb. 24."
"You want to get those right away," he says, looking down at my
T-shirt.
"Do they normally give me a better proof of insurance?" I
ask.
"I'm gonna tell ya."
Okay. Shutting up...
Oh. A thought hits me. I wonder if he thinks that my shirt is a
"Malcolm X" shirt, and I'm one of those raised-clenched-fist,
dashiki-wearing muthas. I don't know why I'm so self conscious
about this shirt
Later that day, we head out to see a matinee, "Pitch Black." Its
a so-so flick, although the ending is pretty contrived. Decent
enough plot, though. Don't make a sequel, folks at the studio. Its
not worth it - unless you can fit in a cameo appearance by Dr.
Evil.
We leave the movie to find some dinner. I suggest going to
Applebee's, a local restaurant chain south of our home in a Saint
Paul suburb named Apple Valley. We enter and stand by the "wait to
be seated" sign for about 20 minutes. No one comes to seat us. I
look at my wife. I look down at the "X" on my T-shirt. I look
around, trying to catch a waitress or a waiters eye.
No such luck.
We leave unceremoniously, headed to a restaurant next door. This
time, we go up to the counter to order. The guys behind the counter
tell us that we can be seated and someone will be there to serve
us. We look around. The place is kinda empty, so we figure it wont
be long till were served.
We head to the no-smoking section. We sit there for 15 minutes.
I vow to myself not to get mad if we have to wait. My wife, the
long-suffering one between us, is the first to say something.
"Shouldn't they have served us by now?"
"I guess so. That's not the problem, though. My guess is that we
moved too far south of the Twin Cities: you know that the farther
from the city you live, the less welcome our kind is. Personally, I
don't think they serve niggers down here in Apple Valley."
She shoots me a dirty look; she hates it when I curse and act
racist. But she doesn't disagree with me...
But she agrees with my suggestion to go home and heat up some
leftover burgers that I grilled earlier in the day.
I look down at my shirt and feel more conscious of my blackness
than I've been in a while.
Dammit.
Am I Black/Mac Enough for Ya?
I wonder if Apple is aware of the problems they've caused for
black Mac lovers like myself? I stifle a wry grin, as I think of
the many white Mac users who will wear this same shirt in public
and receive looks from the rednecks in their midst who will think
they're making some nigger-lovin' statement by wearing a shirt
emblazoned with the symbol of that trouble-maker Malcolm
Little.
As we walk past people, I try to walk slowly enough for them to
see the back of my shirt. Its a Macintosh shirt, dammit!
We head home. I take off the T-shirt and mull over the days
events.
That's a new experience for me: my Mac makes me feel black.
Maybe that's why I'm feeling blue. Black and blue. Bondi blue.
Maybe the Macintosh really is the nigger of the computer
industry. A colored computer for colored people. I wonder why
more "people of color" don't use the Mac.
We all sit at the back of the bus. At least, armed with iBooks
and iMacs, we'll be doing it with style.
Fini.
(This column is dedicated to the hate mailer who wrote me,
saying that my writing is proof positive that affirmative action is
"inherently wrong" - whatever he meant by that. Hey, buddy, I've
got a [Malcolm] OS X shirt with your name on it. Wear it with
pride... my brotha :)
- Rodney O'Neal Lain
Rodney O. Lain is The iMac's Associate Editor. A
former professor, he lives in St. Paul, MN, where he is a freelance
writer and a supervisor at a major US corporation. He enjoys comic
books and pencil drawing. He adores Mike Royko, Zora Hurston, Lewis
Grizzard, Maya Angelou, John Byrne, bell hooks, Frank Miller and
Henry Louis Gates. He also writes for Low End Mac, Applelinks and
My Mac Magazine. When no one's looking, he rants and raves on his
home page
Free Your Mind & Your Behind Will Follow.
