Fuck you whitey AKA My imagined class/race solidarity

There's this 9to5er in the builidng I clean, a white middle-aged nerdy guy who always chats it up with the janitors. He offered me some candy today. Leading me far off my normal bathroom chores to his cubicle, he opend his drawer and gave me a kitkat bar. I know it sounds creepy, but it wasn't. It was nice.

Usually, I find myself being critical of most of the white 9to5ers, taking on some kind of imaginary race and/or class solidarity by feeling venom for them. By seperating (in my mind) myself from the white 9to5ers, white fancy people, white people who do charity, white hippies and white hipsters, I can avoid thinking about the millions of ways I'm similar to them. I'm a different white person. I'm a cool white person. I'm a down-for-the-cause white person. The funny thing is, I end up feeling more venom towards them than the many of the other non-white workers, who appreciate acknoweldgement and a nice gesture.