A Douchebag from Glendale

By Missak Artinian

I have come to learn that being Armenian in a small suburb of Virginia (where I was born and raised) and being Armenian in Glendale, California (where I recently moved) is a vastly different experience. Here’s what I mean. Back home, when someone asked me about my ancestry and I said Armenian, I was automatically associated with mystery and intrigue. Here in Glendale, when someone asks me about my ancestry and I say Armenian, I am automatically associated with car insurance fraud.

Being Armenian in a small town had some advantages because it gave me the opportunity to set a precedent. How a stranger would perceive Armenians as a whole rested on the content of my character, for better or for worse. As the only Armenian within at least a 30-mile radius, I had a responsibility to make good first impressions with strangers because, unfortunately, in a world where people so easily make broad generalizations of any given race, ethnicity, or religion based on the actions of a few individuals, it’s especially important for those of us who belong in an ethnic minority to project a positive image.

For some residents of Glendale, however, the damage may already be done.

Take Diana, for example, an attractive Israeli girl who sells lotion at one of those kiosks in Glendale Galleria. A few weeks ago, she approached me as I was walking back to work, and asked if I had a girlfriend. Misinterpreting her icebreaker sales tactic for romantic interest (she must see something she likes, I reasoned), I was drawn into her net as an unwary sailor is lured unto rocks by a siren’s song.

She proceeded to sensually caress my wrist and compliment my complexion, which, according to her, would look even more radiant if only I were to purchase a four hundred dollar beauty package. Upon hearing this price, the expression on my face probably suggested, How reasonable! But in my mind, I was really thinking, where can I get me some of your crack?

Before I could come up with an excuse to escape her web, she gripped my shoulders, leaned forward, peered deeply into my eyes, and whispered, “But for you, I will sell for three hundred.” Moments like these don’t happen often, but when they do, I can’t help but think, Missak, you still got it.

Flattered as I was by Diana’s generous discount, I had to pass, as I was unable to convince myself that magic exfoliating potions and serums were a better value proposition than, say, a ton of cheese from Trader Joe’s. So predictably, the chemistry between us fizzled, but to repay her for boosting my self-esteem, I offered to buy the cheapest product she had (a bar of mud soap, twenty dollars). When I handed her my credit card, she noticed my last name, and said, “Oh.”

“What?” I said.

“You are Armenian.”

“That’s very perceptive.”

“Your people, you need to open your mind,” she exclaimed, as she tapped my forehead with her index finger. “Open.”

“Open my mind, or open my wallet?” I snapped back, grinning.

She laughed, and we made a connection then and there that was pure and genuine, though admittedly, I tend to embellish my memories as delusional people do, so maybe not.

What struck me the most about the transaction was the look on her face when she saw the –ian at the end of my last name. In her defense, I am ethnically ambiguous, which can be advantageous during job interviews and an inconvenience during TSA screenings. Nonetheless, it was that look on Diana’s face that left a lasting impression, a look that suggested; if only you were wearing a gold chain, I wouldn’t have wasted my time. Not that I blame the poor girl. Her job is to sell snake oil in a mall heavily patronized by Armenians – a group of people, mind you, who have mastered the art of selling snake oil!

A few weeks later, I met a young professional by the name of Thomas at Broadway Bar in Downtown, Los Angeles. We spoke for a few minutes, and during our conversation, I mentioned that I had recently moved to Glendale from the D.C. metro area.

“Why Glendale?” he asked.

“Close to my new job, mainly.”

“Careful, man. Lots of douchebags there.”

“Really? What do you mean?” I asked, though I had an idea of where this conversation was heading. Keep in mind that I introduced myself as Mike (my nickname), so as far as he was concerned, he was talking to some white guy.

“Armenians. Armenians everywhere.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“They drive Benzes and Bimmers like they got money, right? But actually, what they do is they pretend their kids are retarded so they get extra money out the government.”

“No way. That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, man. They’re just milking the system.”

By the end of Thomas’ tirade, I was sad. I was sad because I knew there was truth in what he was saying, that in this world, there are bad Armenians who do bad things. But more than sadness, I felt disappointment. Mainly in Thomas, whose apparent intelligence could not save him from falling prey to the trappings of prejudice. Before saying farewell, I offered him another round on me, and though he may never realize it, he unwittingly clinked glasses with a douchebag from Glendale.

On the drive back home (after sobering up, to be clear), I wondered why I didn’t school Thomas? Surely any self-respecting Armenian would’ve opted for a more confrontational approach, perhaps with a few obscenities mixed in for good measure. But that I said nothing and did nothing was concerning to me. Why did I conceal my identity? Why did I fail to defend my people? And most perplexingly, why did I buy him a drink?

“Because you’re a self-hating Armenian,” my shoulder devil whispered into my ear.

“That’s not true,” my shoulder angel jumped in, defending me. “Missak may hate himself, but not because he’s Armenian.

My shoulder angel had a point. I genuinely do believe that being Armenian has its positives. Let me count the ways:

1.

1

2.

2

3.

3

But growing up Armenian in a town where I felt like the only Missak in the world sucked. Because there’s no way you can ever be cool in school when your name alludes to male genitalia. That just doesn’t happen, not in a world teeming with Brians, Davids, and Matts. I sometimes wonder where some of my classmates are today, the creative geniuses who came up with increasingly clever ways to make fun of me by calling me names like Meat-sack and No-sack. I can imagine them working at some shady ad agency, coining product names like:

4

and

5

Like many first-generation Americans, I struggled with the same issues that are common in immigrant stories. Toula’s struggle to fit in with her American classmates in My Big Fat Greek Wedding comes to mind; or Woody Allen’s existential crisis when he attempts to give Catholicism a try in Hannah and her Sisters, shaming his proud Jewish parents. Even stories about Chinese moms and their assimilated daughters (see everything ever written by Amy Tan) were oddly relatable, even though I have no ovaries and I’m about as Asian as Frank Underwood is kind.

Like many of these characters, I spent most of my formative years being pulled in two directions, with my Armenian identity on one side and my American identity on the other. No matter how hard I tried to find the right balance between appeasing the expectations of my traditional Armenian family and assimilating to the culture of the country in which I was born, I always felt like I was stuck between two worlds.

And now that I live in Glendale, do I feel less like an outsider? Nope. And you know what? That’s okay. To be an outsider is to experience the world as a critic and an admirer. Glendale has its issues (I’m looking at you, you aggressive drivers), but it also has a lot of beauty. And whether people like Thomas agree with me or not, a lot of that beauty is due to the city’s decidedly Armenian identity.

The tri-colored Armenian flag is as ubiquitous here as rain is in Seattle. The Armenian alphabet is displayed practically on every deli, grocery store, and small business. The music is audible on the street, inside my car, from my balcony. The language is spoken in the unlikeliest of places, like the Wholefoods where a group of older Armenian women congregate outside during lunchtime and speak of politics in boisterous shrills. Hell, the view outside my office window features a large building with letters that read USArmenia, which serves as a daily reminder that I’m far from the small town whose identity was as uncertain as mine.

It is this celebration of identity, I think, that unites the Armenians of Glendale, and indeed, Armenians all around the world. They are a people who will show their friends the tiny country of Armenia on a map, will educate random strangers that Armenia was the first nation to adopt Christianity as a state religion, will speak out in class when their history books gloss over or skip the Armenian Genocide, and will protest Turkey’s ongoing denial of the systematic attempt to eradicate the Armenian culture, religion, and people from the face of the Earth.

Armenians are a people whose voices cannot be silenced, because for a small ethnic group that so narrowly escaped complete annihilation, to be silent is to dishonor the survivors, their enduring spirits, without whom, these very words would cease to exist.

90 thoughts on “A Douchebag from Glendale

  1. Cool story dude. I used to live In the LA area 20 years ago and I’ve heard It’s changed a bunch. Not much of a Kardashian fan. I think they are a bad representation. System Of A Down Is cool though. Still waiting for them to come to Houston. 😀

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  2. This was something. I lived in Glendale as an African American woman years past. I would say I did not know much about the culture and in some ways felt less important as a citizen due to the majority of the culture. I like all people and understand struggles in my opinion at a higher level. My thing is the newer generation has this entitlement and looks down on others. I’m used to the stares, rudeness and cliques. I’m mature enough to now that represents some and not all Armenians. So after that I get your post and would say I look forward to learning and befriending the Armenian culture as well others. In hopes it will be the same for mine. Merci

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  3. Damn, I’m half-Armenian from NY, and I had no idea that stereotypes of Armenians like this existed. I thought the Kardashians were an exemption, not the rule?

    Anyway, I love this, and I’m glad you only hate yourself for reasons other than your heritage.

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  4. I used to be torn between my two identities too.. now I think, “why do I have to choose?” Just because other people cannot come to terms with the fact that I am bicultural and biracial, and that this makes me BOTH x and y as well as a “third” category altogether, doesn’t make my self-identification any less valid. It can be disheartening, though, to meet this kind of negation on a daily basis.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Oh, my gosh, I can relate so much. In school I used to hate being Indira and having a foreign last name, but over the years I learned to own it and love it. After all, it’s cool to be different!

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  6. with all due respect, as long as ‘minorities’ continue to self identify with their cultural heritage whilst adopting another culture they self-eradicate from the mainstream. Either take part, or be the ‘other’ culture. Your choice

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I think that it’s actually pretty wonderful that you’re both Armenian and American. Being part of more cultures, you can the world from different perspectives and compare those views. I, personally, am really glad that I am both Ethiopian and Dutch. The way I perceive the world is so much broader than before. It really does make you feel like a world citizen.

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    • Totally! I think growing up and being identified by two different cultures teaches you at an early age how to adapt and have perspective that goes far beyond national pride. But you only learn to appreciate it when you’re older. The wait is worth it, though!

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  8. Self-disparaging and misplaced… While many Armenians are engaging in some kind of fraudulent activity, this by no means is unique to Armenian getto, which Glendale trully is… Note that the girl in the tale was Israeli, not Armenian… You shoul live in Texas and other states to see what Latinos are up to, or Detroit to check out the Arab community, or Seattle/New York for Russian/Ukrainian immigrant community, or Chicago area for Romanians… I am not mentioning the Sikh nd Chinese fangs in Vancouver, BC, and large South-Asian communities all accross North America… Go check them out, then when compared, Armenians are only small-time thiefs…
    All gettos are rife with all sort of criminal schemes and frauds… Armenians are simply no different in that respect…

    I think the author is struggling with his Armenian identity which is incompatible with any modern Western culture…

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  9. Much of the beauty in our world comes from the fact that we inhabit the same space with absolutely different people and yet we are alike because at this time, we are together. I am from Kolkata, India and although its a million mile from Glendale I understand a little bit of how you feel. For India varies and differs from one house to the next. I feel like an outsider even in my country, since my home state of Bengal is absolutely different, be it culture or language, from Karnataka, which is where I currently stay. Thank you for putting words to feelings in such a beautiful way and sharing with the world. Happy new year!

    P.S. – There’s quite an old population of Armenians in Kolkata with grand old synagogues. And I love the fact that I grew up in a city which is home to different people from the greater wide world.

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  10. What a great morning read! Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings, it’s refreshing to see other cultures and ethnicities experiencing the closed mindedness of America (though let them tell it they aren’t closed minded at all).

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  11. your post makes me realise that being human is one of the most difficult thing for any ethnic group in the US. Perhaps it is not just unique to Armenians. I faced it too as an Indian (while I was in the US), one of the most strongest and active ethnic groups (more than anything else, but because of their head count). I think the sheer number of ethnic groups in the US makes every group so much more vulnerable to typecast. Partially becoz of the baggage of cultures all of these groups carrying from their motherland.

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  12. Be who you are! Claim it. There plenty of people out there that do not have car insurace. They are house rich and cash poor. Be proud of your hreitage. I am sorry some douchebage had to ruin a moment. You will learn there are plenty of them out there. Fakes!

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  13. I lived in a town next to Glendale (Burbank) for a few years when I worked there. I went to Glendale to shop at the Glendale Galleria, to eat the Armenian food and restaurants and shop at their grocery stores – they have the best olives and just random groceries. Some of the labels were in Armenian and I could not read them, so many other customers try to me what it is I am trying to buy. And then they ask me why is a white girl shopping here? I said because I like your food. I always get a hug. Armenians are some of the warmest most loving people I have ever met. It surprised me at first because I am not the warm, touchy-feely hugging type (hazard of being half WASP) but you have never met any people who are more warm or sincere. They invite me to their home to eat, drink tea without really knowing me that well and I was treated like their own. Of course I heard the stereotypes, but I learned to judge each individual as I meet them. And also, for non-Armenians and especially white people, if you are afraid of being scammed by anyone not just Armenians, then learn to not get scammed yourself, keep your radars up. This is not to excuse the scammers but there are things you can do to not allow yourself to get scammed easily.
    And because I chose to keep an open mind, all the Armenians I’ve come across are nothing but the kindest people. They educated me so much, like they were the first nation to adopt Christianity as their religion, I thought I was a history buff yet I didn’t know this. I learned about their genocide to near extinction in a college presentation by another Armenian student, I was angry to not learn about this at school and the US government’s inability to recognize it as a genocide because we need Turkey as a NATO ally. I was even more angry at everyone else’s indifference.
    Like many comments here, if anything is destroying the Armenian image are the Kardashians, especially Kim Kardashian, she should just change her name to Kim West and leave out the Kardashian. There are assholes in every race and ethnicity. But for some unknown reason the Kar-trashians and her ilk have taken over the US pop culture.

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