And this Is starting to smell like the same chit.
I HATE Muslims and I don't care if you don't like it.
I am a 46 Yo jewish man and I have my reasons.
And this crap just ads fuel to the fire.
My first job, when I was 16, was working at Swenson's. I vividly remember one day when a man and his two kids (one I recognized as a sophmore at my school, and understood him to be jewish) came in for some ice cream. At the time, they were the only customers in the store. Just as I began to take their orders, the father noticed my boss sitting in one of the booths tending to paperwork. My boss was a middle aged, muslim man of Pakistani decent, and really a decent guy. I heard the father proclaim to his kids, under his breath, that there was "a muslim!" (he played the odds, and he was right). From that point, the father became very ancy, as if the building had just caught fire, or as if he had to pee really bad, and apparently I couldn't scoop the ice cream fast enough (admittedly I wasn't the best ice cream scooper in the business, only mediocre at best, although I had only been on the job for a few weeks). Ironically, they waited around, albeit very impatiently, until they got their ice cream, paid, and left.
I was kind of confused with the whole situation, and wasn't quite sure how to react when it became obvious what the trouble was. I figured it was best to just complete the job and let it all slide, as it didn't appear that my boss had noticed what was happening. Having grown up in the North Bay, it wasn't all that common to hear people remark on the physical or religious backgrounds of others, unless you were an adolescent and just messing around with friends, as me and some of my asian friends would harp on each other regularly, and even today, almost ten years later, we still throw in the occasional inappropriate comment for the sake of comedy. For some reason, none of us could seem to legitimize a burning hatred for one another.
What I found interesting was the disparity in how the kids reacted to the situation as opposed to their father. They were clearly more concerned with the ice cream than with the fact that a muslim was in the building. They responded to their father's agitation by becoming rather nervous themselves, in a manner that suggested a deadline for getting ice cream had appeared only seconds away. This in turn placed me under some pressure, as one who understands the value of ice cream to one's taste buds, I didn't want these kids to leave empty handed. As a result of the father's impatience, my scooping ability was being tested to the extreme, and upon reflection, the scoops they got were a little smaller than normal, but in this case, something was better than nothing at all. In any event, the moral of the story is that world conflict can be solved with sufficient quantities of ice cream.
