In response to my boyfriend's post, there are some things that need to be clarified. If anyone can take a joke, it has to be a ginger! I don't mind if someone gets a laugh but if black people think they have it bad, they should try being ginger! Who would tease a black man for being black? What would happen? At least racist comments against black people is recognised. We gingers are the minority in most countries and yet nothing is done to recognise or protect us! We also stand out a lot more than black people do.
Back in the days when I spent relentless months toiling to find a 'proper' job, I consulted articles on interview tips, all of which confirmed that one should never ever wear red to an interview - 'it's threatening; the colour of danger, giving bad vibes. First impressions and appearances are vital'... After a few interviews I became accustomed to the interviewers predictable and unprofessional reaction as I eagerly walked into the room - 'my word, what red hair you have'! and from that moment, my heart would sink imagining they had already drawn the usual ridiculous conclusions about me; that I was 'bad tempered, feisty, fiery, unpredictable' and therefore unreliable. I eventually got a job in marketing, not the tacky sales stuff, but involving proper research and business strategy, being more or less my own boss in a male dominated industry seeking to increase exports in Northern Ireland. After dozens of interviews, this one took me by surprise. I sat smouldering under the glistening sun in a conservatory, not being given the chance to say one word as the interviewer told me outright that I was clearly 'set apart' and that I looked 'right' (I didn't care if he was mystic meg magically knowing I was competent - I felt completely undervalued).
To help the future generation, one day I would like to expose the extra horrors that most ginger children will inevitably have to face (and it's worse for guys) and magically reform British society. Try reading some of the stories of these guys. I once had a male ginger friend who despite being in his late 20s just could not get over the fact that he was ginger (even though he was actually better looking than most). He got a bit depressed and blamed his romantic misfortunes on being ginger - probably because of the paranoia he had from the previous incessant anti-ginger brainwashing that he still carried around (and which he still experiences in the form of 'innocent jokes' directed from team members of his sport). It was clear to me that he had no trouble wooing girls, but they left him for other reasons. Despite my own abusive experiences, as a child I was profoundly confused by why I should have to be like everyone else to be left alone to get on with my life. I valued uniqueness, saw it as an advantage and regarded the rest as sheep (although one day I did hack off my long locks, to which my new name became 'boy' for a year'). I now see that if only gingers would get over it, they could allow nature and nurture of our genotype to unleash the superior and more resilient being.
To recompense how you err and reform society, I think everyone should have a ginger day! Wear a ginger wig and record your experiences!... or maybe not. I am happy to confirm that it is not blonds, but we gingers who have all the fun!... When we go on holiday, we are the tourist attraction! We get food, drink and entry into tourist attractions all gratuit aswell as personal tours by enamoured locals (although it's really not safe to be alone). Abroad, we are elevated to a semi-celebrity status. When I lived in Brussels, I even had my own personal stalker! In Ireland I have been hunted down by rich Americans who have gone back to their roots with the romantic notion of having a trendy ginger accessory. Old people also love us! - even when they have dementia, they can still remember the 'wee funny ginger one' (so we get all their money when they pop off). Although we have to forgive the pointing, children also adore us and hence their parents too (so its not that bad). Last summer I was sitting (in the shade obviously) in Holland Park when a young mother approached me. She was clutching her brat whose gazing eyes and cheeky smile reminded me of my nephew. He made my day. She said 'I'm awfully sorry but I think my three year old son fancies you, he keeps running over to you, pointed at you and cried when I tried to drag him away! I think he wants to say hello!' (I am not joking).
Back in the days when I spent relentless months toiling to find a 'proper' job, I consulted articles on interview tips, all of which confirmed that one should never ever wear red to an interview - 'it's threatening; the colour of danger, giving bad vibes. First impressions and appearances are vital'... After a few interviews I became accustomed to the interviewers predictable and unprofessional reaction as I eagerly walked into the room - 'my word, what red hair you have'! and from that moment, my heart would sink imagining they had already drawn the usual ridiculous conclusions about me; that I was 'bad tempered, feisty, fiery, unpredictable' and therefore unreliable. I eventually got a job in marketing, not the tacky sales stuff, but involving proper research and business strategy, being more or less my own boss in a male dominated industry seeking to increase exports in Northern Ireland. After dozens of interviews, this one took me by surprise. I sat smouldering under the glistening sun in a conservatory, not being given the chance to say one word as the interviewer told me outright that I was clearly 'set apart' and that I looked 'right' (I didn't care if he was mystic meg magically knowing I was competent - I felt completely undervalued).
To help the future generation, one day I would like to expose the extra horrors that most ginger children will inevitably have to face (and it's worse for guys) and magically reform British society. Try reading some of the stories of these guys. I once had a male ginger friend who despite being in his late 20s just could not get over the fact that he was ginger (even though he was actually better looking than most). He got a bit depressed and blamed his romantic misfortunes on being ginger - probably because of the paranoia he had from the previous incessant anti-ginger brainwashing that he still carried around (and which he still experiences in the form of 'innocent jokes' directed from team members of his sport). It was clear to me that he had no trouble wooing girls, but they left him for other reasons. Despite my own abusive experiences, as a child I was profoundly confused by why I should have to be like everyone else to be left alone to get on with my life. I valued uniqueness, saw it as an advantage and regarded the rest as sheep (although one day I did hack off my long locks, to which my new name became 'boy' for a year'). I now see that if only gingers would get over it, they could allow nature and nurture of our genotype to unleash the superior and more resilient being.
To recompense how you err and reform society, I think everyone should have a ginger day! Wear a ginger wig and record your experiences!... or maybe not. I am happy to confirm that it is not blonds, but we gingers who have all the fun!... When we go on holiday, we are the tourist attraction! We get food, drink and entry into tourist attractions all gratuit aswell as personal tours by enamoured locals (although it's really not safe to be alone). Abroad, we are elevated to a semi-celebrity status. When I lived in Brussels, I even had my own personal stalker! In Ireland I have been hunted down by rich Americans who have gone back to their roots with the romantic notion of having a trendy ginger accessory. Old people also love us! - even when they have dementia, they can still remember the 'wee funny ginger one' (so we get all their money when they pop off). Although we have to forgive the pointing, children also adore us and hence their parents too (so its not that bad). Last summer I was sitting (in the shade obviously) in Holland Park when a young mother approached me. She was clutching her brat whose gazing eyes and cheeky smile reminded me of my nephew. He made my day. She said 'I'm awfully sorry but I think my three year old son fancies you, he keeps running over to you, pointed at you and cried when I tried to drag him away! I think he wants to say hello!' (I am not joking).
When an article featured in a Northern Irish newspaper about gingers being the best in the sac, I had to practically beat men off. That week a sober stranger came up to me in broad daylight in Londonderry town inquiring if it were true that reds are the best in bed, to which I was quick to retort that he would never know (filthy man). We also instantly make friends; we are memorable (another story), people think we're good craic and we're easy to talk to (perhaps because we never had friends!). However, do beware the next time you shout 'OI GINGA' across the street at us... depending on the mood, you never know what the reaction (if any) might be....
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