I was steadily working on a project and typing away furiously, buried behind my computer. I was aware of some clients milling around the lobby, but wasn't paying much attention to them until a question directed at me brought me abruptly back to earth:
"So, honey, is your husband white?"
I looked around wildly, trying to see if the middle-aged woman standing in front of my desk was addressing me, or perhaps someone invisible standing directly behind me. When I realized this incredibly random query was, in fact, aimed at me, I tried to answer as tactfully as possible. "Well, I'm not actually married yet, but yes, my fiance is white. Is... there a reason why you ask?"
She gave me a look of surprise. "Well, it says here your name is Rebekah Bennett. I just figured you must have married into the name Bennett, since you're clearly of Oriental descent."
I gaped at her for a moment. Frantically, my brain ran through a list of potential comebacks:
Should I take the tack of the Self-Righteously Angry Politically Correct Snob?
I am SO OFFENDED by your racial insensitivity... I'm writing to my congressman.
Or maybe the Militant Redneck Who Just Happens to Have Epicanthic Folds and a Penchant for Kimchi:
Listen, lady, my daddy's family has been in Tennessee for nigh on 10 generations, and anyone who thinks otherwise can answer to the Walther PPK in my purse.
Or even the "I So Sorry... I No Speekidy Engrish!" angle.
This one kind of speaks for itself.
I ended up just telling her that I did, in fact, come by my "white" last name honestly, and that only half of my ancestry could be traced back to the Hermit Kingdom. Maybe next time I'll unleash one of my inner personas... but then again, I would like to stay employed.
