How the Election Ruined My Cookie

Yesterday I was walking into the University Center between an afternoon nap and an evening class to get a cookie when I was confronted by a stalky young man in a red Clark sweatshirt who was running for president of the undergraduate student council. He asked my name and where I was from. I told him "Tanya" and "Michigan," at which point he proceeded to tell me I had "an exotic name." I could feel my blood-cookie-levels plummeting and was in a rush to barrel past him, but then he prodded me about what year I was and my ethnic background, adding that I "had an exotic look" to go with my exotic name. At that point, my feminist sensibilities took over and the urgency of baked goods took a back seat to my need to school this arrogant, presumptuous kid (a kid who looked in his early 30s). "What do you mean 'exotic'?" I asked. He kind of fumbled and mumbled something about how he was Greek and thought I was Greek too and how I should vote for him. I told him I was Indian, a grad student, and in a rush, but that I would tell ALL of my dear students to vote for him. He then pumped his arms downward in this strange, sports-like celebratory move and shouted "you're da bomb, Tanya!" Da bomb? An exotic bomb, perhaps?

Afterward I was sitting in the Bistro mowing on my cookie and couldn't get the incident out of my mind. I hate being called exotic. I know people think its a complement, but its just downright racist. The most disturbing thing was that for some reason my cookie started to taste oily, overly minty, and like a heavy piece of sweet bread. I could barely finish it!

The candidate ruined my afternoon AND my cookie. That is just unacceptable.