Dr. Doug Phillips, ecologist, formerly of Moundville, now of the Alabama Museum of Natural History, and of the Emmy-nominated Discovering Alabama.
On the commuter train a couple of weeks ago, a 30-something guy behind me took a call on his cell phone. “Hi Ma… sorry I didn’t call last night… I know, but I got in really late and I had a headache, I’m sorry… oh, thanks for the kugel, it was delicious.” I thought I was in as Woody Allen movie.
So there really are Jewish mothers out there!
Not exactly a stereotypical redneck to me. He looks like a Park Ranger.
For those living in California, the bad Asian driver stereotype is known. In the case of the Asian woman driver, you can say it’s two stereotypes at play.
That was a photo-op. You should see him on fishing day. 
Ooooooh. No, definitely wasn’t aware of that one.
For a moment my brain parsed this as something you could hand to people saying things like “22/F/California.” :smack:
I need to take a picture sometime, but there is this…domicile in a nearby town. It sits on this little plot of land that is surrounded by commercial development. And the guy that owns it has constructed it out of two trailers.
I mean, he took two singewide trailers and put them so that their fronts face opposite directions, then built a plywood shack between the two of them to make it into one home. IT’s the most redneck thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
The ladies in my office squabble exactly like you’ve always heard they do. The other day, one of them was scheduled off from work, and she called me to ask if the other ones were talking about her! I was embarrassed for all of us.
When I see someone who appears to be a living stereotype, I always wonder if they know that they are. Maybe they are consciously following all the guidelines in a little handbook or something.
Yes!
Just yesterday I stopped on my way to lunch to pick up some great yogurt at a nice little Indian market I know. Just in front of me at the cashier was an old lady and her middle-aged daughter, I assume. They spoke to each other in what I think was Russian. The old lady was s-l-o-w-l-y counting out her money on the counter to pay for her purchase: pennies, nickels, dollar bills. She did have bigger denominations, and her daughter said something to her in Russian which I like to believe was “For God’s sake, mom, just pay with the twenty and he’ll give you the right change!”, but mom just hissed back an angry reply. This would throw her off her count and she’d start all over again. Meanwhile a long line was forming behind her.
Finally she worked out with the Indian cashier (who didn’t speak great English, leading to further miscommunication and slowness) how much she owed and paid. She got her receipt, but instead of leaving, started a long leisurely questioning of each item and its price on the receipt. She made the cashier go to the back of the store to re-check a price.
At this point a second cashier reported for duty and the line finally started moving. I was late back to work due to the stereotyped slow-money-counting-old-lady cliche. Og save me from becoming her.
I feel so bad for her sitting all night in the dark waiting for his call.
Driving up the 51 freeway here in Phoenix I occasionally see a metallic purple late 70s Monte Carlo with a highly detailed airbrushing of the Madonna on the trunk, high profile rims with racing tires on a lowered suspension and a chain steering wheel driven by a Hispanic guy in late 20s/early 30s wearing a white T-shirt or wife beater.
I can’t help but think, “Dude, you’re not helping the stereotype fight one damn bit,” every time I see him.
I’ve seen a bricked up single wide in Tazewell, TN. The guy said he always wanted a brick house, so he just bricked in his trailer, looks bizarre.
This happened to a friend of mine. Years ago he was on a business trip to New Orleans. He went to eat at Pascal’s Manale, a restaurant famous for its BBQ shrimp. He was the only black guy in the place, and it was his first time in the South. As he sat there eating his shrimp, a redneck-looking guy got up and walked over to my friend’s table. The guy said, “You aren’t from around here, are you?” Of course, this set off all kinds of alarm bells in my friend’s mind. My friend replied, “No, I’m from California.” The stranger said, “I could tell. . . 'Cause around here, we suck the heads!” The guy then sat down and gave my friend a lesson in eating BBQ shrimp as the locals do.
About 10 years ago, in the middle of the mountains of West Virginia, I saw a rusty pickup truck with extended-height rails made out of wood strips, driven by a guy with a long forked beard and beady eyes. I don’t remember if there were chickens in coops in the bed.
[racist joke]
How do you blind an (asian group of your choice) woman?
Put a windshielf in front of her.
[/racist joke]
Why was Hellen Keller a bad driver?
Because she was a woman.
Three if you count the SUV.
Great story, but these were shrimp? I lived in Louisiana for about 14 years, and I never heard of anyone sucking on shrimp heads. Crawfish heads, sure, but shrimp . . . shudder
My next door neighbor in Breaux Bridge, LA was a stereotypical Cajun, but one who had made it. He had a great job, nice house, and a Corvette. I asked him if he was from around here, and he said, “No, I’m from da udder side of da’ bayou.”
He had to have been eating crawfish. My family has been in Louisiana since the 1700’s, and I have never heard of someone sucking a bbq’ed shrimp head. That makes my stomach hurt, thinking about it! Now crawfish, on the other hand, the heads are where the spicy tastiness is!
In Austin, there are many people who are stereotypical hippies, eat organic, dreadlocks, constantly talking about the Dead, pretty much always stoned, and with black labs named Marley. They are good people.
Just today at lunch in downtown Houston, two rich business men in button downs, dress slacks, boots and cowboy hats were eating at a Thai place, wondering loudly why sweet and sour chicken wasn’t on the menu, and laughing about the Cowboys practice stadium falling down. I can’t remember, but I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if they were drinking scotch on the rocks at 11:30 am. Most likely their third of the day.