Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Picking the wrong "friends"

I was sitting on a bus recently when a frumpy blonde female with all the accouterments of street living boarded. The bus was half empty, but she proceeded to walk past available seating until she stopped short at my position and demanded that I move my bags so as to allow her to sit by me. I had two substantial bags with me myself, placing them on the seat next to me. Her tone was distinctly uncompanionable, suggesting that I was being presumptuous in denying the seat to another person; the question was why she was targeting me when she had half a bus worth of alternatives—especially since she had her own “baggage” of substantial nature. 

Now, I realize that there are rules and manners expected of people on a bus, but in this case I had an expectation of understanding for my situation, and this person clearly could not be serious.  Furthermore, having frequently experienced the contempt of conceited people with high opinions of themselves who will not deign to sit next to someone they believe is of the despised “ethnicity”—although they might sit next to an acceptably “clean” black person to “prove” to themselves that they are not bigots—I had no wish to shame myself by going out of my way to be “accommodating.”

Unfortunately for me, I do tend to attract the unkempt, the unsavory and otherwise unlovable elements of society. This particular person turned out to fit all three categories. My immediate sense was that this was an attempt to “bully” me because of the contempt for those of my assumed “ethnicity,” which in this country provides license and justification to harbor all manner of malicious beliefs. I quietly said “No,” commented on all the empty seats available to her, and left my bags where they sat. There was an unoccupied seat across the aisle behind me, and she parked her fat fundament there, all the while muttering about my person in inarticulate, foul terms. Being “kind,” I thought it was possible that she was off her prescribed medication; when I mentioned aloud my belief, it only elicited a further outburst which seemed to confirm this diagnosis. 

Now, directly across the aisle from me was a Latina, probably of Mexican origin judging from her accent. She chose to take “sides” in the affair—that on the side of the foulmouthed white blonde. This didn’t surprise me, since many women of her sort grovel pathetically before whites in the hope that they will be perceived as not one of them—an  equally pathetic belief that is only accomplishable if the Latina is suitably attractive to a white male looking for a partner willing to exchange sex for desired (but illusory) social “status.” As for myself, I am a soldier, not a strumpet, and my contempt for the racism of the white female was matched by my contempt for this Latina with no self-respect worth speaking of.

Unfortunately for this Latina of not very agreeable countenance, approval of the white female’s assessment of my person only elicited a foulmouthed harangue aimed at her person, which included the “suggestion” that she “go home”—presumably meaning Mexico. “Shocked,” the  Latina tried to defend herself by claiming she was on “her side” against me, even though it was clear that the blonde’ s racist intentions were now in obvious evidence, and that my own actions had exposed her bigotry now aimed at the Latina as well. Apparently this Latina had not been paying attention to Donald Trump’s pronouncements, or the atmosphere of hate against Hispanics propagated by the media, politicians and right-wing commentators like Michelle Malkin and Ann Coulter. 

And she was paying for her ignorance. To my amusement, the Latina turned on the white female "friend," threatening her physically, and taking hold of one her bangs and tossing them toward the rear exit, demanding that she get off the bus. Of course, the bus driver did nothing to stop this, probably finding it all rather amusing herself. The Latina called off her attack and took another seat in the back of the bus, all the while complaining about how she was on the white female’s “side,” completely ignorant of the truth of the situation. She didn’t seem to have the capacity to recognize that no matter how much she might think of own self as “white,” she wasn’t in the eyes of Anglos, any more than Arabs are thought of as “white.” She was just as despised by certain people as I am—and for more reason. 

When I exited the bus, the Latina was still on the bus, her face contorted in disbelief. I didn’t feel sorry for her, of course; she deserved to have her foolish pomposity deflated. However, I decided to offer her some advice. “You need to pick your ‘friends’ better,” I said. For a moment she looked puzzled, and then starting laughing. I could see that she still didn’t “get it.”

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