He Called Me a Wetback

So, today I was on that misery of a road, Lincoln Blvd., trying to take a left turn into a gas station. After a minute or two, I realized that this left turn wasn't going to happen one, because traffic was terrible and two, people behind me starting honking. I got it. Abort mission. Then, as I'm sitting there about to figure out an alternate strategy, this old guy in a pickup truck, oncoming from straight ahead, flies past me with his window wide open and sticks his head out and shouts, "You can't do that, you fucking wetback." For a moment, I was utterly shocked, then truthfully, a little frightened. It's been awhile since someone yelled a racial slur at me, and yes, I'm no stranger to this having grown up in North Carolina. I've been called a sand niger, a niger, a terrorist, a cow worshipper and the likes, but wetback was a new one. I wished I could have told that fat, old white dude what an ignorant fuck he was, but of course, that kind of satisfaction will only play over and over again in my dreams. Or better yet, in a screenplay. At least he could have used the right slur if he was going to go at it, right? Sometimes I forget that people like this guy exist, especially living amongst my very liberal enclave of friends who come from many corners of the world. I even remember, when I was making my short film, This Moment, about an interracial marriage, one of my friends asked me, do people even care about race any more? Is this even a relevant topic? Yes Kameron, wherever you are, it apparently is.