When I awoke on this November morning, I pulled the covers up close as I lay in the warm cocoon. I listened to the wind flex the fingers of winter, then rap on the window. Glad that the alarm had been silenced the night before, I enjoyed the leisure of an unscripted Saturday morning.
My mind followed the path of the Friday just past. On the way home from work, Judi and I made several stops so we could stay at home today. Judi bought buttons to finish a craft project. We picked up a few groceries, some bargains anticipated because of the weekly ads, others serendipitous.
We stopped by a big box discount store on a whim, hoping to find Mario Kart for the Wii system we purchased earlier in the week. I left Judi in the children’s department looking for real deals for the grandchildren and headed for electronics. Several people stood in the aisle where gamers congregate scanning the goodies on locked shelves. I wove my way past a teenage boy trying to make the demo work for him. Another teenager was at the other end of the aisle. A Hispanic family looked at items on both sides of the aisle.
I walked right to what I sought, drawn by the all-powerful Mario magnet. I quickly scanned the other Wii offerings, but decided to only purchase what I came for. I went looking for someone with a key to the treasure chest. The first person that I saw in a blue vest was a man who seemed to be headed for an inventory assignment. He turned my request over to a woman who stood behind the cash register. As she came past me she said that she needed to help another person, “that Hispanic man,” before she could assist me. I followed her back to the locked shelving and waited while she retrieved a video game for the other shopper.
That’s the part of the story that doesn’t seem right to me this morning. This woman knew the Hispanic man needed assistance before hearing my request. She was behind the counter. I’m not sure what she was doing at the moment I was shuttled her direction, but there were no customers waiting at the cash register. As I reflect on it this morning, it seems like my request motivated her to finally serve the Hispanic man. Who knows how long she would have fiddled around behind the counter while he waited for assistance.
I watched the store clerk check out the Hispanic man before making my purchase. He paid with a debit card, which indicates he has a bank account, and that implies a job and a permanent address. The woman was polite in her interaction with him. But she didn’t assist the Hispanic man until a white guy needed something. It seems that my presence deflated a subtle discrimination.
Why did it even occur?