*We met one overcast morning in the empty, dusty waiting room of a midtown L.A. tire store, conversing over a rickety coffee table holding dog-eared, outdated magazines while our vehicles were fitted with Michelins.
It was the early ‘90s. I enjoyed our easy conversation and was charmed by her cultural naivete (“Is Jodeci one person or a group?”), her classic style of dress, and those librarian glasses. When she stood to leave, I offered her my business card. To my surprise, she used it.
Born just outside Mexico City, “Alejandra,” as I’ll call her here, moved to Southern California with her family when she was seven, so the childless 33-year-old divorcee considers Los Angeles her hometown.
Our first date was a spontaneous early evening movie rendezvous. In the parking lot, as we walked toward the theater, Alejandra took casual interest in a shiny black Porsche and the couple climbing out of it.
At the concession counter, we were joking about the big box of Milk Duds being more box than Duds when a well-dressed thirty-something Hispanic man came up beside her at the counter, looking to buy snacks.
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Alejandra turned to him. “Do you always park just outside the lines?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your car. One side of it is not inside the lines.”
Ahh, the owner of the black Porsche Alejandra eyed in the parking lot.
“Well, you got me,” the stranger replied. “Thanks for the advice…a large popcorn, please, extra butter.”
“Well?” said Alejandra.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you gonna move it?” she said in a school teacher’s lilt. “You’ve got time. The previews haven’t started yet.”
The man leaned forward to look past Alejandra and addressed me. “Brother, you need to check yo’ woman.”
“Hey man, I…”
“Nobody needs to check me,” Alejandra interrupted. “I’m the one talking to you.”
“Well, I’m not talking to you. I’m telling you, man, you need to check her.”
At that moment, the woman who came with the man appeared.
“Hi, there,” Alejandra offered, with a sheepish giggle. “I’m trying to help your man preserve his beautiful car.”
“He’s my cousin,” the woman replied.
Alejandra said something else about that Porsche, and the woman, sensing her cousin’s ire, was terse. “Dije que sería mejor que te ocuparas de tus propios asuntos.” Mind your business. Suddenly, the three were engaged in a controlled, heated back-and-forth. In Spanish. Amid the crossfire, I couldn’t get one word of English in before the cousins stormed off.
“Can you believe that?” Alejandra said, exasperated.
“No, I can’t,” I said, flabbergasted. “What does how that man parked his car have to do with you?”
“Did you SEE how he parked?” she said, taking a handful of popcorn from our bucket as we headed into the theater. “People shouldn’t park like that. It’s selfish.”
I don’t even remember the movie. In the darkness, I was too busy wondering who I was sitting with.
In the 1990s, the term “Karen” didn’t exist. We used “snoop,” “busybody,” or “nosy.” When I was a kid, we called them a “Kravitz” (sorry, Lenny)—a nickname inspired by the Gladys Kravitz character on the ‘60s TV comedy “Bewitched,” who always had her nose in the unusual activities of her next-door neighbors, the “good” witch Samantha and her husband, Darren.
A behavior so prevalent in society that it has its own Wikipedia page, a “Karen” is defined as a middle-class woman perceived as entitled or excessively demanding who uses her position in life to insist on having her way.
Typically perceived in Black culture as a white female—”Karen” was adopted as the quintessential white name—Karens are not defined by gender, race, or background but rather by their attitude. They firmly believe they know what is best in every situation and possess the arrogance to express this to anyone, whether solicited or not.
Generally, Karens are not content with themselves. Instead of addressing their own issues, they find it easier to direct their kooky smirk and vigilante tendencies at what they perceive as the problems of others.
Karens have always been around. However, alongside passengers acting out during flights, individuals embracing bizarre conspiracy theories, and racists proudly identifying as such, Karens have become more prevalent in the Trump era (or is it simply that their behavior is documented more thanks to social media?).
I didn’t view Alejandra’s actions at the theater as anything more than a fleeting peccadillo. I still found her curiosity about life and her willingness to dig deep during discussions attractive. Plus, I wanted to see who would emerge when those librarian glasses came off.
But on our second date, I still recall the waiter’s expression during the third time she sent her lunch back to the kitchen. The following week, she drove us to hear jazz at Santa Monica Beach, honking her horn like a musical instrument at other drivers and muttering curses under her breath.
The abrupt end of our brief acquaintance happened in characteristic Karen fashion, a couple of days after what I thought was a good time at the concert.
“You know, I’ve truly enjoyed our time together,” went the irritatingly upbeat message on my machine. “But to be honest, I don’t think we’re a good match. Have a wonderful day.”
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/jj1nawjUXa4
That was it. No explanation, no reasoning. Just…gone. It’s not like I was looking to get married or anything, but I thought something interesting might be brewing.
I considered calling Alejandra for details about her decision. Then, memories of our short time together flashed before my eyes.
Recently, while surfing the net, I came across one of those YouTube compilations of so-called Karens disrupting humanity, and Alejandra came to mind.
I imagined her out there somewhere, her placid pomposity defying the projected benevolence of those librarian glasses as she threw a contained tantrum in some establishment, demanding to speak with the manager.
Steven Ivory, veteran journalist, essayist, and author, writes and talks about popular culture across various platforms, including the Internet, TV, radio, documentaries, magazines, and newspapers. The Last Man on AOL is at [email protected]
MORE NEWS ON EURWEB.COM: White Woman ‘Karens’ Black Man in Central Park: Calls NYPD Saying He’s Attacking Her / WATCH
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