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01 iunie 2008

Patience, my friend

One of my social friends, from Poland, invited me over together with an Irish lady. We were talking about national/ethnical prejudices (in 1970’s America the Irish were all seen as maids, babysitters and other types of hard labor workers – sounds familiar?) when the host admitted that: “I wrote my mother an e-mail and choose to tell her that you are not a Romanian, but from Romania, because by Romanian we mean gipsy.”

6 comentarii:

monsoux spunea...

remember my Gdask story?

monsoux spunea...

Gdansk, damn it!

vvritz spunea...

nici nu cred că am ştiut-o vreodată. tell me.

monsoux spunea...

In Gdansk they used to ask if I am sure I am Romanian, 'cause my skin is not dark. Also in Gdansk I had the most vodka in one go which later led to making them a "pizza" in the hotel room.

andix spunea...

mda.
am sustinut intotdeauna ca NU vreau sa emigrez in Europa exact din acest motiv.

@monsu': you could have skipped the Italian job in Poland tho'... :D

vvritz spunea...

nu că m-ar influenţa, dar aşa am obosit cu referinţele astea, de nu-ţi poţi imagina!