The Navajo word for Italian.

A long time ago, I use to be employed by The Home Depot in Desert, Utah. My job was a cart monkey. I cleaned up the lot, helped crotchety old customers load items into their vehicles and helped my fellow employees in whatever they needed. The job was a bit crap, but the people I worked with were great.

One day, we got a new employee. He was from the east coast. Connecticut or some such nonsense as that. We'll call him, Joey D. Joey D was probably the most stereotypical Italian. He was loud, obnoxious, talked with his hands and did all those things that the movies told us Italians do.

Joey D.'s employee photo.

I had the chance to help Joey D his first week in the lumber department since they were severely short handed. I wandered into his neck of the woods (see what I did there?) and he rolled up on a fork-lift. He looked me up and down and narrowed his eyes.

"Yo man, what are you?"

I was a little surprised. I didn't know what he meant, so I did the stupid thing and asked. Joey D was a little perturbed that I asked him and rolled his eyes.

"Your race. What are you?"

I told him that I was Navajo/Mexican. Joey D looked a little surprised. Than he replied:

"You're an Indian? I didn't think you guys existed anymore."

I laughed at his joke. Indians get that a lot from tourists and city folk. Than I was shocked when I realized he was very serious. This man did not know that Native Americans still existed.

Super serious.

Later that day, we were loading lumber into a customer's truck and we were making small talk, well, Joey D was telling me everything he likes to do, I was listening. Joey D was telling me how he loves to cook. All the traditional Italian stuff.

"Spaghetti alla chitarra, stelline, zitti! I cook it all!"

Joey D was very proud of his Italian heritage and cooking. I replied that I loved to cook also. Finally, common ground was found between us. Joey D asked what kind of food I liked to cook. I told him I loved cooking Mexican food and dishes from the Navajo palate. Joey D stopped loading and stared at me again, with those dead, Italian eyes and said:

"You people have food?"

I then stopped loading. I am not easily offended, but I felt very insulted. On behalf of my people, I explained to him that Navajos, and other tribes, had to come up with some kind of food before his people came along and brought his superior food.

Native American cuisine at its finest. 

At the end of the day, I was in the break room enjoying a nice cold Coke. Not a bag of sand like my ancestors use to drink. Joey D strutted in and told me how he enjoyed working with me and I was a real help in his department. I explained to him that that was the Mexican side of me. He laughed at the joke. I felt a bit sad.

Joey D grabbed his stuff from his locker and before he left, turned to me and asked me a question.

"So, do your people have a word for my people?"

I could tell by his face that he was totally honest in his questions. I looked at my Coke and told him that there is a Navajo word for Italians. Joey D lit up like Rome on Christmas mass. He scooted towards me and could not wait for my response. I gave it to him:

"The Navajo word for Italian is wop."

For those who have never explored the amazing world of racial slurs, 'wop' is the equivalent of me being called a 'wetback' or 'dirt worshiping redskin.' Joey D's face was confused. Than his confusion turned to slight irritation and than to anger. He threw up his hands and stormed out.

He was not amused.

"That is messed up! That is messed up!"

He kept shouting as he left. I was the confused one. Joey D insulted me many times and I got one good jab in and that makes me the ass? I pondered the interaction with Joey D and I just said to myself

"White people be crazy."

I heard a gasp and realized one of my white co-workers walked in and heard me. She was promptly offended.