Blackhumouristpress's Blog

March 22, 2017

Alternate Ending

Rush hour in the United States, in the morning as the sun gives hope
to the inhabitants of the Earth, that tasks will get accomplished and
happiness is near the horizon.  Somewhere.
Scott, an average middle class white man with a mortgage, two
children, a wife with high expectations and plans for their family,
listened to National Public Radio while aggressively speeding up and
slowing down to get around trucks or other drivers of vehicles only
willing to do the speed limit.
“The president arrived in Cuba today to tour the country and to
witness the closing of the Guantanamo prison.  The last of the
prisoners were sent to federal prisons in Louisiana, Kansas and
Illinois.  This comes as the next wave of political refugees from
Syria, Yemen and Eritrea arrived in Atlanta…”
Scott turned to local news- all expressways designed in 1953 during
the Eisenhower administration, were jammed packed.  The weather would
be warm, Blackhawks won, Bulls lost; thirteen people were shot in the
city of Chicago overnight, three dead, two in critical condition.
Scott noticed a large Ford truck that was raised to monster truck size
in his rear view mirror.  The tires on the truck hummed.  The driver
of the truck rode right on Scott’s bumper until he moved from the far
left lane to the next lane over to the right.  The truck sped up
impatiently.  The bumper stickers on the back window of the truck
read, “She’s not my President”, “Trump 2020” and “Hindsight 2020”.
Scott profiled the asshole as he tailgated the next driver ahead of
him.  White-undereducated- homophobic-xenophobic-misogynistic, Trump,
gun, military loving, cow tipping, tobacco chewing, Country Music
listening, American and Confederate flag waving fellow… Citizen.
Guys who fit several of the profiles listed, beat him up in high
school and at college parties but he found a woman who didn’t want him
to bench press his weight a dozen times and drunk wrestle guy friends
in the backyard.  Scott’s wife wanted him to garden and do projects
around the home.  She wanted to go wine tasting and antiquing and take
Ballroom or Salsa dancing with Scott.  They were tolerant people who
loved diversity.  They wanted to vote for Bernie but alas things did
not pan out.  They both kept their Bernie stickers on the back of
their electric cars.
A minivan with a driver wearing some sort of shrouds crossed the
divider twice into the far right lane of the expressway.  Scott
applied the breaks to allow the driver to merge.  Instead the driver
drifted back to the left back into their lane.  Scott thought about
punching it or getting behind the driver and move to the left lanes to
pass.  Still having a bit of testosterone in his testis, he punched
the accelerator of his electric car and it raced forward the way a
semi does.  Scott just about passed the minivan when it suddenly
drifted to the right and rammed his car.  Scott lost control at the
speed of 58 miles per hour and careened into the wall.  The driver in
the minivan never applied the breaks.
“What?  What the fuck?  What kind of a fucking asshole does this
fucking shit and takes off?  No fucking way!”
Scott followed the van and called 911.  He was loud and appeared to
be out of control.
“I am the victim of a hit and run!  I am following the car now as we
speak…  I am travelling north on the 94 near Irving Park…”

“Sir… Do you mean west?”
“No, I mean north…  It’s 44 degrees and my screen on my dashboard
says north.  I mean north, what the hell does that matter?”
“It matters to the police when they have to either go east towards
Detroit or west towards Rockford…  Are you following that logic, sir?”
“Okay…  So do you have someone dispatched?  This driver is not stopping…”
Once off the highway, Scott called 911 for the city of Chicago and
answered a slew of questions that just made him mad.  Scott followed
driver all the way to a Halal meat shop.  There were sweet shops,
hookah lounges, restaurants and most of the writing was in Arabic.
Scott walked along side a woman most likely that was covered head to
toe in a burqa.  There was a little screen for her to look out of as
she hustled away from Scott and into the butcher shop.  She was there
to collect a lamb that was just slaughtered according to Muslim
guidelines hence halal.
A dozen cab driver looking men, scruffy with open dress shirts were
drinking brackish coffee and talking.  They immediately stopped
talking when Scott walked in.  Scott stared at the group of men and
then turned around and walked out.  When he walked back out, there
were two white cops.  Scott explained what happened with loud hand
gestures.  One of the cops radioed in for a “facilitator”.
“You’re waiting for a what?”
“A facilitator…  A female who speaks Arabic.  When these things come
up, this is how it is handled.  If we go in and drag her out, we wind
up on the evening fucking news.  Racist, xenophobic cops trampling on
the constitutional rights of a non-citizen and so on…  You have to be
careful of how you treat these people.  When I went to Iraq to fight
with and against them, they would just as soon blow you to pieces with
a bomb strapped to their chest, but we have to handle all these
situations delicately…  My advice to you…  Just file a hit and run
claim against your own insurance.  These people won’t have insurance,
license or anything.  You won’t get dick…  Just letting you know how
this shit works, sir.”
“This is fucking bullshit!”
“We agree with you…  Here comes the facilitator.”
The facilitator was a young thin white woman dressed in a white robe
like material.  She had the meekness of a librarian and barely spoke a
whisper.  She jotted down notes, covered her head with a scarf and
went in to talk to the woman.  After ten minutes, the facilitator came
out and started speaking with the word “so”.  She started every
sentence with so.  The facilitator went to college and majored in
Arabic just to land a job as a go between.
“So I spoke to Abu-Nasim-Kareem…  So she claims that she was not in
an accident and does not know what you’re talking about…  So I suggest
the police inspect the vehicles.”
The handles of the minivan on had a scuff but no paint.  Scott’s car
had a large indentation but no paint on the driver side and a
destroyed passenger side from contact with the wall.  The diagnosis
was nothing.
“So…  What do I do?”
“If you have insurance and you should.  You should report it.”
“This is fucked up…  I don’t even know what to say.  This is wrong… Fuck!”
Scott went home and poured himself a red wine that he and his wife
had purchased while in Sonoma.  He plopped down on the couch and
turned on the television.  It was 10 am and he was not going to make
it to work.  Scott had decided he was just going home.   He was going
to eat ice cream and watch nothing of substance on television.  Scott
was going to call his insurance company and take a nap and then pick
up his children from school and take them for a Slurpee and pretend
like the whole day never happened. Scott’s father-in-law, an ice
fisherman from Minnesota had been watching Fox news non-stop on their
television while visiting for a month.  His father-in-law had caught a
flight for Minneapolis that morning.  Scott was happy to have his
house back.  No old man to steal the newspaper in the morning, take a
monstrously smell shit before breakfast, breathe loudly like Dark
Vader, click his false teeth and comment out loud about the state of
things, hoping to draw Scott into a debate or a conversation.  He was
gone but Trump took his place.  On the television, at a rally in
Pennsylvania.  Scott never usually listened but he did that morning he
was angry.  Angry like a lot of other people disgruntled socially and
politically that they could not change the things that did not sit
well with them.  Scott poured a second glass of wine and plopped down
on the couch.  Trump took the podium with flag waving hicks in the
background.  Scott didn’t change the channel; he listened for the
first time that he could remember.
“Sometimes…  You lose…  That’s okay.  Sometimes a loss is a win… I
thought about the loss.  The razor thin loss in many states where they
said I had no chance.  I could have walked away and gone on with life.
I have been successful and will continue to be.  We have started a
movement that will continue to grow.  Throwing money at Iran in hopes
they do what we want, is not the answer.  Ignoring radical Islamic
terror is not the answer.  Accepting under vetted refugees is not the
answer.  Allowing America to be the dumping ground of the world is not
the answer.  I could go on with life but I feel my calling is to stop
our decline before it is too late.  This movement will grow and the
media won’t be able to stop this.  I’m going to the people and the
people are going to me… hindsight will be corrected in 2020.
Hindsight 2020!  Hindsight 2020.”
Scott emptied the bottle and did not move or change the channel.  In
hindsight he questioned what he thought and what he believed.  He was
angry and frustrated with an army of many others.  Will it subside?

February 29, 2012

Amigos in America

 

            The Ortega’s, no relation to Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua at least none that any of them know, came from a small town in Mexico.  The town that the Ortega’s come from in Mexico is not one that American vacationers would flock to overeat, over drink and generally over indulge in.  After the birth of his third child, Ronaldo Reagan Ortega, Javier packed up his family and crossed the Rio Grande and made his way up to the city of Chicago.

 The idea to move to the United States came to Javier when his wife gave birth to a sandy haired blue eyed boy that he named after the United States President that he admired so much.  Javier thought that it was fantastic that a man, who made pretty bad movies, could go on to be a governor of a state and then become president of one of the wealthiest and most powerful countries in the world.  Way back in Javier’s ancestry, there was blond haired, blue eyed German man who was his great-great grandfather who had immigrated to Mexico.  Javier took the recessive trait that surfaced in his son as a sign from god- go live with the white people in America.

Javier washed cars, drove trucks and cleaned tables as an undocumented illegal alien.  He did an outstanding job of saving money to help his children as they got older.  There was Socorro who was tall and thin with straight and long jet black hair with high cheek bones.  Socorro was the eldest and the rebel among the three children. Socorro had moved to Los Angeles and married a Low-rider gangster who gave up gangbanging to customize classic cars for other Low- riders.  Socorro had two children and lived in a small house not far from LAX airport in Los Angeles.  Nina was the middle child who was quiet and always there to help family at all times.  Nina bought a home with her husband in Chicago and moved her parents in with them.

Ronaldo was handsome and fair skinned.  He resembled those European actors in the  Spanish speaking novellas and had the ability to blend in with Anglo looking people without a second look.  Ronaldo was an outstanding student that finished medical school, became a citizen of the United States and had a birthday all in the same month. 

Ronaldo had a girlfriend named Jennifer who was a complete physical package in the eyes of most men.  She was pretty on an athletic frame with a nice set of breasts and perky posterior.  Jennifer was high maintenance among women who are considered high maintenance.  Jennifer had to have all the passwords to Ronaldo’s emails, Facebook account and cell phone.  Jennifer chose all of Ronaldo’s clothes, told him where to go to medical school, what car to buy.  Slowly over time, all of Ronaldo’s childhood friends were slowly phased out and those with money and title moved in to become Ronaldo’s newly sanitized friends.  Ronaldo’s family said very little about their concern that Jennifer, a rich sheltered woman was reinventing the pliable Ronaldo into something that was not Latino.  The family’s fear was that they were going to lose their brother and son.

Jennifer rented a coach bus to take Ronaldo on a tour of his thirty favorite places in Chicago with his newly adopted friends.  Jennifer had planned on renting out a banquet hall for the celebration of becoming a citizen, a doctor and having his thirtieth birthday.  Ronaldo asked Jennifer to have the party at the culmination of the six hour tour on the coach bus at his sister Nina’s house so that he could see his family for his birthday.

Nina and their parents didn’t feel slighted that Jennifer did not invite them to go along on the coach bus to tour places that she felt were Ronaldo’s favorite places.  Socorro had driven in with her husband for the celebration in a sharp 1964 Chevrolet Impala that was lowered three inches from the ground and painted a sparkly red color with spoke wheels and a hand painted sign on the back window that said, “Chavo Y Socorro”.  Socorro voiced her displeasure about Jennifer’s controlling nature to her parents and sister but promised to hold her tongue.

At a few minutes after six in the evening.  Thirty loud, drunk people filed out of the coach bus and into the home on Nina.  The crowd was mostly white and well to do.  The new friends of Ronaldo devoured all the food and drank more alcohol.  They were drunk, loud and obnoxious.  Nina, Socorro and their parents looked out of place in their own home among the partying people.  Jennifer, who was wearing a tight black dress, climbed on top of a coffee table in the living room and banged a spoon against her beer bottle until everyone stopped talking and listened to her.  Jennifer sucked in her quivering lips and put her right hand against her chest.  She began to cry as she gave her dedication speech to the entire room.

“I just want to say that I am so proud of the love of my life Ronaldo who has come so far from where he was to where he is now.  From a little town that nobody ever heard of in Mexico to become an American citizen just like all of us.  Very soon Ronaldo will do his residency at Children’s Hospital here in Chicago.  I want to thank all of you for being here to celebrate a special time for both Ronaldo and I…  I really love you all so very much…”

The crowd cheered and chanted Ronaldo’s name.  Friends raised shot glasses and bottles of Mexican beer.  The room had the feel of a frat party that was about to get out of hand.  Drunken urban professionals showed up at Nina’s home to eat and drink more.  Socorro could no longer hold back.  Socorro stood up on her chair and banged a fork against a bottle of beer.  A few men whistled as the shapely woman with blue eye liner stood up to say a few words to the group of friends.

“I want my brother to know that his family has always been proud of him and have always known he is special.  He is special not because he looks like Europeans but because he has a good heart.  I hope as he enters and is accepted into the world of Caucasian people, that he always remembers that little town he was from in Mexico that I have heard of as has my sister and my parents.  I hope my brother keeps in mind to be American does not mean to not be Mexican.  I hope my brother remembers that while blacks were once sent to the back of the bus in favor of white people during this black history month, Mexicans today weren’t invited or even allowed on the bus.  I hope you all enjoyed the authentic Mexican food you ate today and will be considerate and clean up your mess before you leave because these Mexicans who live here are not servants or busboys today.  I hope you all keep in mind when you leave here and are safely back in your safe suburbs among all the people who look just like you…  The day is coming when you will all have to recognize that we are here, we are growing and we are not going anywhere.  Every time you see a nice front lawn, every time you eat at a restaurant, think about the people who make that possible…  Think about that when you’re drinking your Coronas on Cinco de Mayo and think about that now that you’ve adopted my blue eyed brother as one of your own…  I ask you all to raise your glasses and repeat after me…  Viva Mexico, putas.”

And they lived happily ever after.  Separately.

Blog at WordPress.com.