Blonde: "What does IDK stand for?" Brunette: "I don’t know." Blonde: "OMG, nobody does!" “So you’re not really a dumb blonde?” he questioned me within thirty seconds of sitting on the worn suede passenger seat inside the tan Taurus. Mr. Eberle, the drivers’ ed “teacher,” sat there with shock and amazement painted on his face for roughly two minutes, contemplating the realization that I was, in fact, not a “dumb blonde.” Q: Why can't a blonde dial 911? A: She can't find the eleven. “You see the blonde hair, right?” they say as I make a human mistake of asking a question, everyone, including myself, already knows the answer to. I may come off to many as a stereotypical blonde: the blonde hair, blue eyes, loud, and seemingly ditzy. That’s who I am. But I am no dumb blonde. I come from the “never get a ‘C’ on a report card” mentality. I was even smart enough to enroll as a Defiance College student my sophomore year of high school, and I take classes at the college every day. Regardless, a majority of my peers still qualify me as being less bright than a yellow fluorescent highlighter that has run out of pigment. A guy was driving in a car with a blonde. He told her to stick her head out the window and see if the blinker worked. She stuck her head out and said, “Yes, No, Yes, No, Yes...” Even though all sixteen-year-olds look forward to driving, no one at my school looks forward to drivers “education” class, which lasts three long hours over the course of six Saturdays in a row. Sitting in the very back row of my drivers ed class one day, Mr. Eberle commanded, “Use appropriate hand over hand turns.” I raised my hand and logically asked, “How many times do you do hand over hand?” The eyes of my peers scorched my blonde highlights with their intense heat. By now I had grown accustomed to the stares and this question: “What color is your hair?” he asked. “Blonde,” I shamefully answered back as if having blonde hair was a sin. Another requirement in my drivers ed class is that we actually have to drive for six hours with this same instructor. One particular Sunday, the blonde degradation escalated. As I sat inside the car, Mr. Eberle asked me, “Do you have your permit with you?” I answered yes as I handed him the clear plastic envelope, containing my permit and my college ID. After inspecting my permit for about ten seconds, he flipped my permit over, revealing my college ID on the other side. He stared at the ID for a while and questioned me, “Is this yours?” Obviously, since it was a picture ID with my picture and name right across the front of it, of course, it was mine. I answered, “Yes.” Still glancing at the ID, he then asked, “So you’re not really a dumb blonde, huh?” I let out an awkward, confused laugh of some sort as he handed my permit and ID back to me. He really thought that since I have blonde hair, I’m automatically dumb. A brunette and blonde are walking in the park when the brunette says, "Aw, look at the dead birdie." The blonde looks up and says, "Where?" The blonde jokes need to stop. The stereotypes need to stop. I’ve come to the realization that no matter a person’s actual personality, blondes will always have the ugly stereotype of being dumb, which is unfair and untrue. Why do we put others down—to make ourselves feel better about our own insecurities? Stereotypes make people feel insecure. Blondes are dumb. Terrorists wear turbans. Asians are smart. Lesbians have short hair. White makes can’t jump. Blah, blah, blah. Stereotypes are ugly. Stereotypes aren’t cool. Stop the stereotyping.