June 17, 2013
Through it all rose the din of an even paler, fatter, and more exhausted-looking white woman with one leg in a cast who stood up near the counter, heckling the Indian clerk: “Why you doin” me like that? Why you doin” me like that?” Apparently covered head to toe in the tattooed names of every gang member who”d ever had his way with her, she kept asking him why he was doing her like that, and I don”t think he understood her question.
After selecting my beverage”diet green tea if you must know”I made my way to the counter, only to be bumped out of place by the diminutive rugby player. He muttered something at me, I grumbled something back, and a genial middle-aged black man intervened to chide the midget for cutting ahead of me in line.
In my discomfited haste, I had unwittingly cut in front of the tattooed white woman, and when I apologized, she told me that it’s all good and she was only wondering why the Indian clerk was doing her like that.
At some point an elderly black man in a mobility scooter motored his way into the store, crowding it to the point where it all resembled an interracial ghetto version of the stateroom scene from A Night at the Opera.
I made my escape safely. The next day I drove 80 miles east to bask in the sun on rocks at Cummins Falls State Park. But even out there, tucked away in hillbilly country, the gas-station owners were Indians. It didn”t matter that they sold boiled Cajun peanuts and what were alleged to be fried chicken livers, although I suspect they may have been alligator testicles”they owned the place. The white hill folk who”d inhabited the area for centuries still couldn”t get it together enough to own a simple gas station. It reminded me of how in Georgia, all of the reputed “country buffet” restaurants seem to be owned by Asians. Even my downscale Nashville motel was helmed by Indian proprietors.
I can only imagine what these enterprising and disciplined Asian and Indian immigrants think of America’s white and black underclass. Not much, I”d presume. And seeing how what are now the “natives” have devolved into one dysfunctional Jerry Springer nightmare super-blob, I can”t say I blame the invaders one bit.
