Early Morning. Bright sunshine. Cool winds and a blue, blue sky.
That was this morning.
I was at the grocery store – I ran out of milk. The shopping trip was uneventful, except the store did not have any of the type of milk I normally buy (Almond Milk). I did do that, “OH! I need to get…” and expanded my purchases by almost $30. I hate when I do that.
Anyway, I was in the parking lot enjoying the early morning quiet and the cleanness of the air when I heard what sounded like a twelve gauge shot gun.
Not too far off. It definitely got my attention and made all the hairs on my arms stand up. A bit of peeking later I discovered, or more precisely surmised, that the noise was not a gun, but the amplified sound of the angry slam of an old Ford truck’s door.
An argument was in full swing.
Late twenties, early thirties, male, hispanic, built like a line backer. He even wore wife beaters and those blue khaki pants faced off with a late forties, early fifties, black, round grandma type.
Her voice was high pitched and reedy. It carried, but was not parse-able. His on the other hand was clear and booming.
I assume that had it not been so public and if there had not been four teenage boys (black and built) and a couple of younger boys (black but whippery thin) Grandma would have gotten her clock cleaned somethin’ good. He was out of his vehicle, charging at her like a mad bull and only stopped when he saw the boys gather behind her.
Well, nothing. Grandma gave him two pieces of her mind and the boys stood behind her quietly waiting. He gave Grandma three pieces of his mind then stomped back to his truck, got in and slammed the door (confirming my earlier conjecture) and skidded away.
But his parting words were priceless:
“You stupid, watermelon eating bitch!”
And then the screeching of tires and plumes of smoke rising off the tires and out of the tail pipe as he made his exit.
It would have been big screen worthy if he had also flipped her off. Or maybe if grandma had flipped him off….?
What was interesting was that the boys did not say anything to him or – actually, grandma seemed to hold her own. They did not seem to speak to Grandma. And as soon as he left, they went back to their own cars. Grandma pumped her gas and went on her way.
As for me…
Sigh. The whole scene depressed me. I had one of those deep, philosophical, inner monologues that ended with something along the lines of, “Kill them all and let God sort it out.”
Race relations gone wrong make me… off.
Yes, there is a but. Remember that I always say, “Serendipity is my oldest friend”
As I drove out of the parking lot, I saw the cutest sight.
A boy, early teen, black, a little on the roundish side walking side by side with a little hispanic girl, long dark hair, very cute and also on the roundish side.
They were holding hands.