America in Five

As usual, on the way home from rehearsal, I stopped to get gas, which is pretty standard considering the number of people who use my car for everything.

Circle-K was packed. I was actually quite surprised because every time I stop in to fill 'er up and exchange almost no words with the bearded guy at the register, I seem to be the only other soul in sight, especially considering that it is always after 11pm. The pump I usually take is situated at the perfect angle so that I can pull off 7th Ave. and just slide right into place, but it was occupied. In fact, all of them were except for one, which was on the other side of the gas station. Despite the mass of vehicles going this way and that, all trying to leave, park, or drive around in circles (it seemed), the path to the only open pump seemed to clear itself more and more as I drove over to it. So, I parked, got out and as I was walking to the door, a van seemed to be leaving, so I slowed down to let it pass.

The girl in the passenger's seat was probably about 22 and had the look of a Hollywood drug-addict. Beautiful face smeared with dirt and old make-up, a lip ring, and drab, lifeless hair pulled back into a ponytail. The driver was an older, black guy, probably about 45 or so - the odd couple for sure.

The van slowed just in front of the entrance as some other car was getting impatient. (But what are you going to do when a giant Chevy work van is blocking every way out?) I could tell she was going to ask me something because of the look on her face. It was unavoidable.

"Hey man. How ya doin tonight?"

"Um… I'm good, I'm good."

"You're good? Well you wanna feel even better?"

She handed me two passes to "Jungle Cabaret - Half Price Cover" with "PAID" handwritten across.

"Um... Thanks..."

“Yeah. Come tonight. We’ll see ya there.”

As the van eased forward, I walked in with a furrowed brow and slipped the tickets into my pocket folded in half. I thought it would be rude to trash them before the odd couple was out of sight.

I should have noticed the sheer variety of cars outside because the people inside were just as different from one another. I think every ethnicity, skin tone, height, and hair color were represented inside that place. I got in line behind a guy younger than me who was also about a foot shorter and had a patch on his sleeve that read, "Arizona Community Service Officer." I'm guessing he was off-duty because of the scene that unfolded.

A bald, black 60 year old woman was absolutely irate at the counter.

"I was just lookin at the baby Tylenol! My baby sick! My baby sick! Whatchoo thank every black person steal?"

The old white guy behind the counter responded, "well, you said it - I didn't! If you can read my mind so well, read it now and get outta here!"

He was obviously suspecting some kind of theft and told her to leave repeatedly. Her husband (I’m assuming) was standing a few feet behind her with a worried, confused look on his face and said nothing.

The redheaded community service officer did nothing as the argument continued.

"I ain't even much steal nothin'! Maybe you needs to watch yo own coluh!"

She meandered smugly over to the door as she muttered bad things about white people (or black people; I can't remember which), and as she was all the way out the door - still holding it, but still walking away - she turned her head and looked me dead in the eyes.

"Yeah. Maybe you needs to watch yo own race."

Her statement was calm; I had no reaction but to mirror her own blank expression.

Her husband wandered out behind her.

I took a deep breath and inched up in line, as I overheard an empty conversation between the college kids behind me. All the same age - all the same clothes - all the same trendy haircuts - all trying to be unique, perhaps, but not from this particular angle.

They laughed at something (or maybe it was nothing). One of the girls finally spoke.

"Dude! We need some weed!" Though, come to think of it, I think the word weed was never finished. I'm pretty certain she just trailed off into more laughter.

Kids these days, I thought. Kids about a year younger than me.

For all of the line that I waited through - I sure got the transaction done quickly enough when I finally reached the counter. The same, young, bearded guy who was always there quickly took my twenty, and I was out.

Walking back to my car, I looked to my left and there was a very suspicious looking priest sitting in a 1998 Cadillac Sedan Deville, giving me the curious up-and-down look. I won't speculate, but he was creepy, and had the official clergy-collar, maximizing irony and hypocrisy.

Even as I pumped my gas, I saw something.

Across the pump was a Chrysler Pacifica and a very urban, young guy was pumping gas. He told a story - I forget the plot, or wasn't alert for enough of it - but it was about some guy who pulled a gun on him.

Then he and his friend had a good laugh because of the story – or maybe because of his cunning wit in evading the person with the gun in his story.

I calmly replaced the lid on my gas tank and drove away.

...blank expressions, trends of highlights and expensive clothing, perverted hypocrisy among those claiming God's name, explicit and implicit racism, diregard for the seriousness of life, attempts at escaping reality through drugs and drinking, utter incorrectness that seems unchangeable...

This is America. This is it.

"Amen. So be it. Welcome, O life, I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race." - James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man