First, a word from the wordsmith. The word is, *Discrimination*. Not too long ago, the word discrimination had a good sense to it. A discriminating man ate Fine food, not fast-food, drank Fine wine, not cheap plonk and wore well-made clothing, not K-Mart, Blue-Light Specials.
If I wished to hire a person for a position, and gave two people a test, and the brown guy scored ninety and the white guy scored a hundred, I’d hire the white guy. I would discriminate against the brown fellow, not because he was brown, but because he didn’t do as well on the test. Say the test was devised by a white man. Say that the test reflected a white way of life. It’s still My company and My customers I have to think of.
Ted@SightsandBytes seems upset at my most recent post. He doesn’t say why, but I feel that he may think, if I call one a Paki, I call them all Pakis. Or, perhaps he feels I shouldn’t call anyone a Paki. I’m out to prove both those assumptions wrong.
I have lived and worked with quite a number of Indo-Asians. Many (most?) are nice. I used to work with a young Pakistani woman who invited me, and another worker, to her home several times, for an ethnic-food lunch. She later invited me to her wedding and reception. The saris and jewelry were gorgeous. I would never call her, or anyone like her, a Paki. Paki is a term reserved for some a**hole, so abhorrent that he deserves the approbation. Maybe I lived beside one for ten years. You decide.
He bought the house beside me. I didn’t mind; I’m not racist. Then he built an illegal mini-apartment in the basement, contrary to building and safety codes, so that he could move his 60ish parents and his two younger sisters in upstairs, And Charge Them Rent! Contrary to grading and water-flow by-laws, he filled in his side of the swale (valley) between our houses with gravel and sand and topped it with paving stones, washing out parts of our gardens, and endangering our air-conditioner, and almost diverting water over the top of my foundation and in my basement window. He put plastic barrels on the pavestones to collect rain water, for his mother to carry inside, by pail, to do dishes and laundry. Despite requests from me and the neighbor on the other side, he refused to put mesh over the tops to prevent breeding of disease-carrying mosquitoes.
Next, he had built, a full-width, rear, roofed deck. Told me it was to improve the resale value. Like the basement apartment, he did not obtain a building permit, submit plans, or have it city-inspected. If he, and my wife, were in their respective backyards, he would refuse to reply to her if she spoke, because she was a woman. That didn’t stop him from telling the consummate gardener what flowers and shrubs she should put in, and where. He liked blue.
When his father retired, and the older sister got married and moved away, the other three had some problems paying his rent. He knew people who needed day-care and babysitting so he arranged for his 63-year old mother to take kids in. The final count was nine, breaking another city by-law restricting unlicensed day-care facilities to a maximum of four. What a thrill it was, having all those vehicles in front of my house each morning, blocking my driveway, or beeping car horns goodbye, after I’d worked a late shift.
It all came to a head one day, when some whirly-gig seeds from the maple tree in my back yard blew onto the roof of his new deck. He demanded, not asked, and definitely not nicely, that I come over and clean them off, AND, cut down the maple tree. Even after almost ten years of this shit, I still didn’t get nasty. I nicely declined and told him that God had put them there, and he could ask God to clean them up. Then he got nasty. He told me that, if I didn’t comply, he was going to phone The City. I saved him the trouble. I called by-law enforcement, and reported every infraction.
An inspector came around and had a look at everything. There was nothing he could do about this douche charging his own family rent, but, the daycare stopped. He was told to remove the sand and gravel and return the runoff to its original slope. He was to get a retroactive building permit for the back porch, submit drawings and arrange for building inspection. The basement apartment was declared unsafe and either had to be removed, or an outside exit had to be installed. If any portion of my tree extended over his fence he was allowed to lop it off, without further damaging the tree. If my maple keys blew on his property, he was to take it up with God. And I didn’t even prime the officer with that comment.
The City officially told him to do all this, so he did it, right? Sure he did!? What he did, was, he immediately put the house up for sale and palmed all these problems off on the unsuspecting buyer. He located an apartment for himself and told his parents and sister that they’d have to find their own place to live. Pakistanis are usually pleasant, friendly folk. The parents and sisters were nice people and great neighbors. Actions and attitudes, this pile of putrefied dog-dump, and others like him, are what I refer to when I use the pejorative, Paki.