Cultural Imperialist

"Scathing Spats on Shallow Subjects"


Mon Aug 21




White Lies: Why Asian Grocery Stores Make Me Hate My Own

The purpose of unions being to protect people with no skills from competition, grocery workers in the Seattle area nearly went on strike before Thanksgiving to protest pay and benefit cuts.  Holidays without sushi and wine by the glass at QFC?  Bereft of broccolini at Safeway? My pale-skinned brethren, tote bags in hand and Nissan Leafs on backorder, shuddered in their ugly sweaters at the thought.

Me? I couldn't care less. Having paddled the yellow river for years now, I've learned that Asian grocery stores invariably have better prices than super- and other markets catering to the vanity and neuroses of whites.

Western civilization invented the psychological markup, and it makes me hate whites.

Perusing the aisles at the HT Oaktree Market, I can feel my blood start to boil, realizing how many Jacksons I've wasted at stores owned by The (Melanin-Deficient) Man over the years when I could have tossed off Hamiltons. Thick leafy greens for $1.30 a pound instead of $3? Red bell peppers by the pound at all, and only $1.50 at that?  Even a giant bag of tortilla chips for $1.50, and big tortillas half the price of where you get your “ingredients for life” - more like "ingenious for lies" - this place with roasted ducks hanging in the window has a great selection of ethnic foods in general. Since my little lotus flower started bribing me to take her here on a regular basis, I've been eating not only healthier but cheaper.

If the whites kept their stores to themselves, I'd be fine with this bifurcated bilking. But look no further than Seattle's best-known Asian grocery store to see the neoconservative, colonizing impulse of whites at its worst.

Freshman year at any local university isn't complete without a trip to Uwajimaya, the closest thing to a Whole Foods in the euphemised International District south of downtown.  Not only ducks in the window but pho at the counter and enough varieties of sake to stock the karaoke suite at a Toyota-Suzuki merger gala, Uwajimaya draws a Smörgåsbord of SUVs every weekend.  Imagine the shopping frenzy in the opening scene of “Jingle All the Way,” that wonderfully rich Schwarzenegger-Sinbad joint, with smelly durian fruit instead of scented dolls.

Uwajimaya's owners understand that Asian culture is nearly as popular as “snuggie sex” in the pantheon of white fetishes. To make whites feel comfortable, though, the store has to look as white as possible. This means putting ritzy apartments on top, selling organic produce, and jacking up prices on everything.  It pays for the general scentlessness of the store, in contrast to its lowbrow cousins, and suggests to lawyer-doctor couples that their purchases have gone through more inspections than mail from Yemen.

If you want cheap Asian groceries, or even decent Chinese food, you have to trek to the nether border regions, like Taliban fleeing the marauding forces of the West. Congratulations, White Metropolis - you've turned me into a pale, full-beard version of Khalid Sheik Mohammed.

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