Annette and I went out to get dinner tonight, and on the way I filled up the car at the local petrol station. As I approached the counter, there was a dude (who I shall refer to as “Fuckstick”) already there and in conversation with the attendant. The following conversation took place as I walked up and stood behind Fuckstick:
Fuckstick: “…just go back where you came from.”
Attendant: “Sir, I can assure you..”
Fuckstick: “New Zealand doesn’t need you.”
Attendant: “Sir, I..”
Fuckstick: “Fucking ragheads. Go back to Iraq.”
Fuckstick: “What? Fuck ’em. Muslim terrorists. Fuck.”
Me: “He’s not Muslim.”
Me: “Look at his turban. And his beard. He’s a Sikh.”
Fuckstick: “All the same to me.” (He leaves)
Me: (To attendant) “…on behalf of the entire Caucasian race, I apologise.”
Attendant: (Gesturing towards departing Fuckstick) “I get that all the time.”
Fuckstick didn’t even look like any of the usual options you would expect. No popped collar and rugby shirt. No skinhead haircut and big boots. He just looked like a regular guy.
The whole thing made me slightly bummed out, and continues to do so.