NASCAR and Ghetto Acceptance

OK…picture this…the day a stereotype becomes a multimillion dollar business and folk can proudly live being who they are, because the world tunes in, and pays for the pleasure.

No, I am not talking about rap music videos.

The hotel where I put in time is packed this week. It is that time of the year in Chicagoland. The Joliet Speedway is gearing up for the annual NASCAR race, which boasts more local support than the Klan rallies of the 1920s.

NASCAR is the sport founded by good ol’ boys who long for the days when their souped up cars flew through the hills of Kentucky and Tennessee. Story has it enterprising hill distillers hooked up their rides so they could evade prohibition agents, and later Internal Revenue folk. This is like COPS, where the bad guys are the heroes and the guys in uniforms are left stomping their hats.

Man, I don’t think there is anywhere else that country white males can be as unapologetically country, white and male as when NASCAR comes to town. This evening, I have met guys that I know live in Lincoln Park that are drawling like slow molasses, and everyone’s eyes kind of widen when they see me behind the front desk as opposed to out front humping bags and grinning for tips. They’d probably have a collective coronary if they knew an Indian owned the place.

For decades, white trash were the butt of America’s jokes. Even the illegal Mexicans looked down on the country white guy. What’s the stereotype? Fast car, cowboy boots, Marlboro hanging from the lips, no real job. Didn’t Southern Hills Barbie come complete with pickup and choice of unemployed Kens? “Fishin’ Ken” or “Settin’ on the Porch Ken”, I think. Denim clothes, big belt buckles, beer and talkin’ funny gave comedians stand up for days. I won’t address the whole inbreeding thing. Nothing beats having out of wedlock, unsupported kids but having them by your first cousin.

Guess what? The joke’s on you. Bubba done found a way to get paid.

The same caricatures from the movies and the butt of the jokes is a multimillion dollar enterprise. Like most oppressed folk who come into means, these individuals are struttin’ their stuff and basically telling the world, “To hell with acceptance.'Ewe gots change for a hunnert?” They are not hiding it. They brag about the size of their trailers. My lot is full of Mustangs, extended cab pickups, and Hemi Chargers. Cowboy boots are the foundation of ensembles that are topped off with polo shirts. Not THAT kind of polo. The kind with Miller Brewing logos where the little horse should be.

America, the hillbilly has taken your jokes and now laughs as they buy up your mortgage. This is the era of Elmer’s revenge.

Now, I am wondering. Ghetto Black folk catch hell from almost everybody but evening news show producers. What if there were a way to take all of those ghetto stereotypes and turn them into serious money makers?

Again, I don’t mean rap music videos. Zeke owns his stereotypical moneymaker. Hans, Ioki and Ted own yours. So far.

I see folk go through their ghetto machinations every day, with no shame, rightfully, because that is who they are. The time has come to stop judging folk who eat potato chips while walking down the street, talk loudly into cel phones they know are long disconnected, and disrespect everyone, including themselves, with every word that comes out of their mouth. Why change? They should keep being themselves.

Their white counterparts are doing it. Barbecuing on the hotel front porch. Swilling beer at 9am. Talking about women’s anatomy in front of the kids. Urinating in full view of everyone until reprimanded by the head redneck to act civilized in good company. Leaving cigarette boxes and Kodiak tins everywhere. Swearing like no tomorrow, regardless of who is listening. The slurs…the one room not sold to these folk went to a Jewish guy from Connecticut here for a tennis tournament. Thought we were going to have a war there. The women are lounging around in neoprene outfits that look painted on. That’s in the lobby. I think they’re skinny dipping going on in the pool, but I’m across the street from a hardware store where they sell rope. They can be drowning, I’m not going in there.

I mean, these folks are living the life even ignorance forgot. These aren’t southern gentlemen. These are the men the gentle south forgot. Their ignorance is on full display, and they don’t give a damn. Where’s Fox News when you need them?

What’s the difference?

Bubba got money. You don’t have money, Pookie. Or rather, you may have it, but you don’t spend it in a manner that influences folk. You want a discount and then browbeat the staff for every little thing after you’ve paid 10% less for your stay. I looked over the numbers tonight. Bubba bought out the hotel. Paying a rate 50% higher than standard rack rate. Bubba also had us check everyone in today-regardless of whether they were in town or not, and bill the racing team up front for all charges through Sunday. So even though the hotel is half full, the rooms are completely sold for the next three days. At a 50% markup. These fools could slap the owner and call him Rajah Dothead. He wouldn’t care, he’s so happy, he’d pose for pictures afterwards.

So, apparently, the key to having America embrace your ignorance and turn a blind eye to your cultural differences is to pay for it.

I have often said the only rights you have are those which you buy and those you take. NASCAR proves once again this is true.