This week, a book club composed of mostly black women got booted off a Napa Valley wine train for laughing too hard, a.k.a. laughing while black. When the guests complained about their mistreatment, the train management first defended itself on Facebook, claiming the eviction was the result of "verbal and physical abuse" by a bunch of sweet middle-aged Kindle-owning ladies; that "attempts to address the issue were ignored"; and that it was necessary to "involve" the train's "own railroad police that escort the train every day."
Then the train did an about-face right on its caboose when it suddenly discovered that a social media shitstorm had climbed aboard without a ticket. The train's CEO uncorked a bottle of vintage white whine and poured it into the public's collective glass. It tasted like this:
The Napa Valley Wine Train was 100% wrong in its handling of this issue. We accept full responsibility for our failures and for the chain of events that led to this regrettable treatment of our guests.Well, I swished that one around in my mouth for a minute, and spat out the following translation:
The Napa Valley Wine Train is a 100% bag of dicks, and we are sorry we got called out for being racist asswipes. We accept full responsibility for the well-deserved clusterfuck our bullshit ignited and for the chain of events that led to the regrettable need for us to defend our reputation in public.As a self-proclaimed loud-ass white bitch who's been chastised MANY a time for laughing too loudly in public--including in racially mixed company--I can tell you this story made me both laugh AND want to switch careers.
Napa Valley Wine Train, can I PLEASE go work for your crisis P.R. firm? Oh wait wait. Never mind. I want a job as a sergeant-in-arms of the wine police that escorts your train every day. Do I get a little brass badge shaped like a grape leaf and a gun that shoots Malbec? Will I be accused of misconduct or placed on administrative leave for serving a sub-standard Pinot Blanc?
God I hope so.
Both of those jobs are all but guaranteed to get me kicked off planes, trains, and automobiles for laughing too hard. In the meantime, Napa Valley Wine Train, you suck harder than a $6 box of Franzia and what you did deserves to send you right off the P.R. rails.