When I started working at GayMart a year ago, I though the Mexican War Streets was a black neighborhood because about 80% of our customers are black.  I went through the usual stages of feeling like a minority, then getting accustomed to that and feeling uncomfortable in all white situations, and the final stage of throwing in the race pride towel and moving from my white neighborhood to the Mexican War Streets.

My white neighborhood was no gem.  Between the inept dope dealers across the street, the two drunks book ending our apartment, and the multiple shootings I figured we'd be better off down the hill, where the only people who get shot are crack dealers, crack addicts, and anyone unlucky enough to be on the wrong corner at the wrong time.

So we moved down here.  There's more white people that you can shake Glenn Beck at.  They just don't come in the store, eat Big Sam's Memphis BBQ, sit on their stoops with beers, harass the local children, or walk around after dark.  They scurry from car to house, eyes scanning for danger.  They don't come into GayMart because sometimes (I admit it) there's like 8 big black guys who sell crack for a living in there.  But they aren't banned because they behave.  I assure all the Mr. & Mrs. Wonderbreads of the neighborhood that GayMart is the safest place in the War Streets.  

 So the next time you need a pound of good coffee beans or want a homemade roast beef sandwhich (we roast the beef right in the oven, and unless my coworker/roommate/friend has once again fucked up and used American cheese, they are really the best you're gonna get for $2.50) or need a roll of toilet paper, just come into GayMart, and provided that it's not a check day, I will baby you, ask if you're new to the neighborhood, and then say something like, "You've lived here five years and never come in GayMart?  Ooooh, you're missing out- We have everything."

I can only conclude one thing from all of this: White people are rascist as hell.  They don't wanna mix with the poor black people that they are inexorably pushing out of these lovely brick row houses.  (Have you ever seen the Wire?  Mexican Wars Streets look like that except gentrified.)  Otherwise, they'd be gulping our expensive coffee, nibbling on the tasty sandwiches, and divulging the intimate details of their lives to me.