“Hey, great game Francisco,” James Harden said after the game. “It must be really cool to play so close to your home fans in Mexico.”
Francisco looked irritated. “Dude, I’m from the Dominican Republic. Not Mexico.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, same thing. Listen, my mom is looking for a great enchilada recipe to impress some guests, can you hook me up?”
In a huff, Francisco picked up his stuff and walked out of the locker room. While making his way to the player-only parking lot, he was approached by Gustavo Ayon. “Francisco! Wait up!” called the Atlanta Hawk. Francisco slowed his speed to allow Gustavo to catch up. “You did great tonight. Mexico represent!” Gustavo said eagerly, clapping Francisco on the back.
Francisco resisted the urge to punch the large, ugly man. “Damn it dude, I’m not Mexican!”
Gustavo looked offended. “Come on. Don’t be ashamed of your home. Us Mexicans have to stick together, bro.”
Shoving Gustavo in the chest, Francisco nearly shouted, “For the last time, I’m from the Dominican Republic. Do you even know where that is, you dumb oaf? Or are you too busy shoving burritos up your butt?”
“Me and Eddie Najera were gonna chill out over a few brews, and I was gonna invite you, but consider your invitation rescinded. Talk to me again when you quit with the self-loathing stuff,” Gustavo said sadly, walking away.
Francisco stared in disbelief, then hung his head. “God damn it.”