Racist?

I was hanging out with Suzanne today. I love having her back in town. We decided to have lunch and grab a movie and so we went to Santa Monica and enjoyed fond memories of high school trips that made us feel so cool. (In fairness, I think we only went to 3rd Street once in high school, but a number of times the first year or two of college.)

See, there used to me this narrow hallway in one of the buildings with a number of small, ethnic restaurants. On one said trip to the tourist trap of bad restaurants and run down movie theaters, we were in the mini-food court looking for something to eat. Always the helpful friend, I was reading the names of the offerings, "Mexican, Peruvian, Greek, Ethiopian, European... Shit, where's Europia? What kind of food is that?"

Shamefully, that's not the only time I've made this mistake. "What do they call people from Belgium? There's the French, and the Dutch? Do they call them Belch?" Oops. Oh yeah, Belgian, like the waffles.