Do you think this guy was being a racist or just rude?

I was visiting my parents for the past two weeks, and while I was there they asked me to go to a little shop downtown and order a new set of cushion covers for their patio sofa. My parents had been living with these ugly-ass cushion covers for over 20 years. They were dark grey and covered with an orgy of bird-of-paradise flowers and banana leaves, so my parents were totally thrilled when someone told them that there was a store that made custom-fit cushion covers. But they were always really busy with work and could never find time to make it to the store before it closed at 3:30 PM. Thus, they sent me on the important task of ordering a set of solid-colored cushion covers. I could pick the color at my discretion, but flowers, fruits, surfboards, Mai Tais, or any other bastardized idea of Hawaiiana was not to appear in any form or fashion on the fabric.

I brought one of the cushions with me so that the storeowner could measure it, and spent about 45 minutes sifting through their catalogue of available fabrics. Why 45 minutes? Because this was Hawaii, and every single pattern was a cacophony of loud colors and tropical flora. Seriously, they did not have a single solid-colored anything in there, and would have had to place a special order just for a freaking book of samples!

I called my mom who was like, “Forget it. Just pick the one that isn’t as ugly as the rest.” And that’s why it took me 45 minutes to decide on a fabric. I was flipping through a catalogue that could have been the basis of a very bad Skittles commercial: Sh*t the rainbow! *whisper*

But I eventually found a best-of-the-worst and went to place my order with the storeowner–a man with a really bad comb-over, loud Hawaiian shirt, and who looked to be about 60 years-old.

I just needed him to measure the cushion and give me a bill–a process that could’ve taken less than 10 minutes. But nooooo! He wanted to have a conversation first.

Yes, I call myself Chinese and not Taiwanese, and no, I don’t want to hear your assessment of China-Taiwan politics.

The storeowner began telling me stories about how he used to buy counterfeit goods in Asia, and then started singing the praises of Communism. 

He was quoting Mao and Zhou Enlai, and all I could do was stand there because I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I mean, the closest I got to learning any Chinese history was when I played “Romance of the Three Kingdoms X”–but I wasn’t in historical mode and basically learned nothing.

Finally, the storeowner cut the crap and decided to finally provide some basic customer service. He pulled out his receipt pad and said:

But before I could open my mouth, the old fart went ahead and answered his question for me:

OMG! You (racist/rude) f*ck! I just wasted over an hour of my time looking at heinously awful fabrics and listening to your mouth diarrhea, and you have the nerve to crack a joke like that?! You want Fu Manchu? Here! Here’s your Fu Manchu!

Obviously, I didn’t stab the man in the eye with his own pen, although I really, really wanted to. Of course, that’s assuming his “Fu Manchu” comment was actually racist. I honestly don’t know if I was right to be so offended, or if the reason why I thought he was being racist was because he was a non-Asian making a joke about an Asian’s name.

By the way, his wife was a young Filipino woman, but that’s about as helpful as saying “I have gay/black friends” in defense of making a crude joke about gays/black people.

So which one is it: Was he being rude or racist?