The dumb white guy in my house (is actually me)

I loved the era of PC.  You know “Political Correctness.”  Oh it drew and still draws much ire from people like my father who thought it was somehow threatening to white people.  But I always felt that at it core the idea that we should try and use terms to describe people that they find non offensive to make a lot of sense.  In fact, it just seems polite.  Some people probably took it too far and smudged the good intent.  I always felt that though I may make mistakes, my intent is to clarify and to be non offensive and unbiased toward any racial, religious, social group, creed or sexual orientation.   

At my core, I’m pretty bleeding heart.  I don’t mean to be but I just am.  And maybe, I even look down my nose at other less enlightened white people.  But that seems justified because after all…aren’t I a better person?  You decide.

The gas station closest to my house is owned and run by a family of Indians (people from India.  The “other,” kind are called indigenous Americans you un-PC asshole.)  This fact bothers many people I know.  I hear stupid rumors like: “they don’t pay taxes!  Don’t spend your money there.”  The fact that they practice Hindu may as well make them witches in the eyes of many.  But as for me, I happily spend my money there as seeing as their gas prices are competitive and they have the best deal on Monster Energy Drinks of which I am hopelessly addicted.

One day this summer I was filling up with gas and getting one such energy drink before work.  I was running late and had realized last minute that in addition to carbonated amphetamine, I would also need gas for my car.  I can be somewhat terse and irate when I am under a time crunch.  I filled up the car, rushed inside, grabbed the sweet nectar of the Gods known as “Monster,” and b-lined for the checkout where I waited for the woman ahead of me to decide which generic brand of cigarette she wanted. 

Finally it was my turn.  Today the wife was working the store.  She is polite and pleasant even though we exchange few words most days.  She scans the Monster and I pay swiping my card.  I don’t pay attention to the total…I never do.  I put the debt card back into my wallet and prepare to leave when she says something to me.  I found it hard to decipher  her English just then as she speaks with an accent.  “What was that?”  I say hoping its clearer the next time.

She repeats herself and I cannot understand her.  “Im sorry?” I say becomming embarassed for the the both of us.

She repeats herself a third time with a big smile and sort of half laugh.  And then I did it.  I did something that I am sure that has been done to her countless times in her life by people who couldnt quite hear her.  I did something I thought I would NEVER do--I patrionized her.  And with a big stupid smile, slight wave of my hand and my own half laugh I said "Oh...okay!  Bye."  And with that I left in my hurry to get to work.

To be completely honest, I probabally wouldn't have thought twice about the incident past that day.  Thats how easy it came to me.  But what makes this stand out is what followed.  As I sat in my car at the intersection waiting for the light to change this woman, this poor sweet lady comes running up to my car.  Almost out of breath she tells me "you need to pay for your gas."

Appearently she didn't realize I had gas and simply wanted me to swipe my card again.  Mortified and deeply embarassed I return to the store to pay for the gas and apoligize emphatically. 

So thats my story.  Maybe prejudice and discrimination are more nuanced and subtle than I once thought.