Cross posted at www.vibrantcommunities.ca
Years back, I hung out for a time most days at a Robin’s Donut Shop. I was self-employed in those days and started each morning with a coffee (Robin’s was better than Tim’s) and a read of the paper. The owners of the small shop were Maggie and Tony, a pleasant couple who had come over from Great Britain a couple years earlier.
Maggie worked long hours at the shop and Tony less though only because he had a second job as a mechanic. There were a few other regulars of course and for some reason I liked the familiarity of the place. It felt easy. Safe.
There was this one guy who was around quite a bit, a suit and tie guy, polished shoes, nary a hair on his head. Sometimes we talked. Mundane stuff really: the Oilers game – well he talked mostly; dodging potholes; and the cost of stuff. Sometimes we just read the paper.
This one time, he was reading the Journal and making lip smacks and offering throat noises that suggested he was unhappy and irritated. Being the conversation-starter that I am, I leaned toward him and said, “You seem unhappy and irritated.”
“Damn straight,” he said. He said that too loudly so that other patrons noticed and turned. It was somewhat comical I guess. Everyone went quiet and waited for what this white guy would say next.
He looked around and said, “Wh-aaaat?”
People went back to their business and he leaned toward me and whispered, “It’s those friggin’ immigrants.” He waited, still leaning, for me to say something, but I didn’t. I hoped he would go away and leave me in peace.
But racism never just goes away, does it? Continue reading