Mr. Andy

My next door neighbor is about 70 years old, his name is Mr. Andy and he is a traveling jewelry sales and repairman. He is one of the nicest old men I have ever met and he is also an amazing racist. About 3 weeks ago we had a Mexican couple move in upstairs, that couple quickly turned to 6 and I think they eventually topped out at 8.

Mr. Andy would quietly sneak onto my porch to ask me what the situation was, as if I was a scout in his war or something, and I would say something like “All clear Mr. Andy” or something like that to humor him. That’s when it all went south.

About a week and a half ago, I was sitting on my porch when Mr. Andy comes walking up and says out of the blue:

“Pretty soon it’s gonna be like New York City around here, with those damn Puerto Ricans cooking chickens in the hallways. You ain’t Puerto Rican, are you?”

What? If you know me, you know that I am in fact Puerto Rican and I am not that easily offended. This was the most awesome conversation I had ever been in, so I say no just so I can see where this conversation led. It led nowhere. After he said it he just kinda scuffled of to his house. Until last night.

Again, there I was, sitting on my porch minding my own business. Mr. Andy comes from out of nowhere with his arms full of groceries, he steps on to my porch and shows me what he has (not that I care) and then he starts telling me about how he used to live in New York City in the 70’s. I immediately know where this is going. Puerto Ricans. I’m getting excited just thinking about what he’s going to say and he didn’t disappoint.

He told me that he used to live on the 18th floor of this apartment building and there were no elevators, so you had to walk the stairs to get to your apartment. On the 17th floor, there were apparently a bunch of Puerto Ricans that used to cook chickens in the hallways. He then pauses and looks at me with a super concerned gaze and says “Over charcoal, these Puerto Ricans were cooking chickens over charcoal. In the hallway”. As if the charcoal was the weird part of the story. Mr. Andy then utters one of the greatest lines I have ever heard:

“Those Puerto Ricans will eat everything on a chicken, they’ve even developed a way to eat the peck”

Awesome. After that he started laughing and ran off to his house. How long I should wait to tell him I’m Puerto Rican? Should I? I don’t know, I just know that Mr. Andy probably isn’t a racist, he just grew up in a different time. If Mr. Andy was 20, he would have left the porch with a bloody nose.