It was just about supper time and I had put off picking up a few of the groceries I would need for the meal I had planned. Going to one of the big boxy grocery stores was out of the question. Everybody in my fucking town puts off their grocery buying until the last minute. The line-ups at the check-outs would be longer than the last minute of a basketball game with a streaker in the house.
I decided to try my luck at one of my neighbourhood's Hindoo stores. Thought that was the smart thing to do. I got a parking spot near the store ok but when I walked in the door, much to my surprise, the line-up at the till ran just about to the back of the store. Fuck. Turns out it does not matter what colour you are, we all love to stand in motherfucking lines.
The other thing I noticed right away, and everyone else in the store noticed at the same time as me, was that I was the only white fucker in the store. I felt like Joe Strummer in that song the Clash did, "White Man in the Hammersmith Palais," except my teeth are marginally less fucked up than Strummer's were in 1976.
I could tell exactly what everybody was thinking and they could tell exactly what I was thinking. What is the drunk white man doing in here? I stood in line listening to a song praising the Air India bombers. It was not bad. I refrained from singing along.
A couple of the Indian women looked at me. I pretended not to notice. I am pretty sure they are not supposed to look at white men like that though.
I hope that is the scariest shit that happens to me this Hallowe'en.
1 comment:
Sometimes, when I'm out, I go down to Berkeley to buy ingredients for this secret Indian Ayurvedic liver medicine. Everyone is nice now because we all know what I want so we bypass the language barrier and get right to it. They aren't open on Monday, the Indian markets in Berkeley. Smart fucking people, ducking Mondays like that.
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