Casual Heroing

So, this 27/9 bull has finally caught up with me.

Why, you ask? Well, I’m in front of Happy Bakery but it’s closed and there’s barely any foot traffic around it.

What the hell?

Is it the equivalent of Sunday?

I knock a couple of times on the front door, but no one comes to answer.

I turn around and I notice that my usual escort is not around, either. I was too sleepy to notice when I got out of my apartment.

I need to ask someone, so I stop the first person I see on foot.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Thank you for stopping! Would you mind telling me why everything is closed today?”

A plain-looking Elf raises his eyebrows, mutters something racists about humans and only then gives me an answer.

“It’s the Day of Ancestors, Human. It’s our sacred holiday and all businesses are asked to stop so that people can spend this day with their families. Even most of the Watch is off-duty.”

Ha, that’s interesting.

I raise a finger because I want to ask more questions, but the Elf is already walking away. These Elves don’t like Humans that much, huh?

It’s different when I’m in the company of another Elf, but when I’m alone I can sort of feel all eyes on me.

I mean, this could be an incredibly efficient way to teach people about racism. Just let them be subject to it. Obviously, when I say racism, I mean real racism, the one that puts innocent people in jail or graveyards; not the one that had the poor guy who taught his dog the Nazi salute on YouTube go to jail or something.

Did that guy actually go to jail?

Oh, man, I wish I could search that on the Internet right now.

But I’m digressing.

I start walking back to my apartment while I ponder about this ‘racism’ I’m experiencing. I’m not even sure it’s ‘racism’ as much as ‘speciesism’ or the like.

It is uncomfortable, honestly. But I’m mature enough not to care that much about it. If I had been a kid, maybe it would have been different. As long as people don’t mug me on the streets, they can go on and do whatever they want. And if you’ve ever lived in a big city, most of the time it looks like everyone, without exception, is an asshole, which might make the original racistsTM a bit harder to spot.

Not that racism doesn’t exist, obviously. It’s just that when people shoot each other at pretty much any time of the day and night, it becomes harder to draw the line between wanton violence and racist idiots.

Am I racist if I hate the French?

I don’t think so, right?

I remember one far removed cousin from Italy whom I visited a couple of times saying something like ‘We Europeans all hate each other, but it’s not racist. To be honest, I’m quite proud of the genocides perpetrated by Caesar in France. I would never apologize for that. And I’m pretty sure that they would never apologize for Napoleon either. Only the Germans apologize, but they had Hitler, so… That’s that. It’s very American to apologize for something. If I could, I would reinstate the Roman Empire tomorrow and put all the French men to work, digging trenches and building new Coliseums, and the French women—’

I shall not repeat some of the content since my cousin confessed his sentiments in private and I don’t want people to hate me because of his words. Let’s just say that if you don’t like me, you would most definitely not like my cousin.

Very interesting perspective on hating each other, anyway.

Xenophobia, maybe, more than racism.

It seems to me that my Italian family basically considers the rest of European countries sort of like ‘part of the family’ after all these centuries they have spent hating and killing each other. I mean, both world wars started on the Old Continent, didn’t they? And my theory is that these people feel completely fine hating the guts out of each other based on this weird ‘family-bond’ they share.

If you think about it, you do feel entitled to hate part of your family without feeling guilty about it. It’s not racist if they are family, am I right? And it makes it right to hate someone on such a premise. Think about ‘blood-feuds’. It’s always family drama and tragedies that make for the goriest shows.

Even though I’m not even remotely absorbed in the weird Italian culture my cousin loves so much, I do share the sentiment about the Caesar stuff. I shall claim my cultural and blood heritage to avoid being called a racist against French people.

It’s just a family feud.

However, Elves are not really family, are they?

Their problem, not mine.

…

Back to my apartment, I knock at my landlady’s door.

She doesn’t look like someone with family, does she?

“Hello! You must be Joey!”

And right when I finish that thought, a beautiful, young, HOT Elf opens the door. For a second, it seems that Agostina, my landlady, lost all her old age and gained a smoking-hot, piping, steaming, salivating body.

I need a second here.

Am I having a stroke?

No, for real. Did I have a stroke? Or am I under some terrible spell—I could argue the ‘terrible’, but am I under a spell that makes every woman look hot? Is this real?

Is Karma messing with me?

God, if you are there, are you messing with me?

How can it be possible that I meet so many hot women?

Not even NYC had this insane concentration of hotness.

What the hell. This is low-key—no, scratch that, this is high-key freaking me out.

And you know why?

Because nice things don’t just happen to me without consequences! If I’m meeting all these babes, I’m pretty sure soon someone will try to whack me on the head with a spiked mace or something.

Agostina, who’s now shoving the lovely girl to the side, looks at me with a reproachful look. She had noticed I was leering at whatever family member of hers had opened the door.

“Yes, Luciani?”

I look at the hot family member behind Agostina and decide that if I have to die, I better die among some hot girls.

So, you know how it goes…

I stare at the hot Elf, smile, wink, nod, and say:

“How you doin’?”