Michael on doing what is right

When have you stood up to someone or something, even at risk to yourself, for what you knew was right? What was it? How did it make you feel? What would have happened if you hadn’t acted? How does it feel to acknowledge that?

I went to the Citgo close to Wofford a few weeks back to get gas. I parked and walked into the store, which was more crowded than it usually was. Two Latino men were in the store that looked like road workers – they were wearing blue jumpsuits and were covered in what looked like tar. One of them was being yelled at by the cashier at the register. It was clear that his spoken English was fairly limited and that she was unable to convey some kind of information to him. While several other customers and I waited, she berated him for not understanding the directions she was giving. They finally sorted out their problem and the two men went on their way.

As they started to walk out the door the woman at the register began speaking with the customers in line in front of me. “These damn illegals,” she opined in a deep southern drawl. “Can’t do nothing with them. Coming in here and don’t know how to pump gas. They takin’ people’s jobs and don’t know how to pump their own damn gas.” The people in front of me, several African-Americans, shifted and looked at the floor while she complained. Her monologue continued until I was at the counter. “Ten dollars in gas, please,” I asked, hoping that her tirade would cease as she punched the register. It didn’t. She began it anew, in fact – as if I hadn’t been able to hear her conversation with the people waiting in front of me. “Did you see them Mexicans? It is just ridiculous,” she asked. “I don’t even know what to do when the Mexicans come in. They never know anything.” I didn’t respond, swiped my card, and walked out without a word to her after that.

I went and sat in my car for a few moments without turning the car on. I thought about the things she had said – some in earshot of the Latino workers, and much more after they had gone. They were unable to defend themselves against her anger or her backbiting comments after they left. The people in the store, including myself, had sat idly by while she spewed a racist, elitist diatribe against them. I went back inside the store.

I opened the door and stood in the frame. All of the customers had gone and she was sitting on a stool behind the counter. “Excuse me,” I said. “I want to say to you that you are a bigot, and you have no right to talk about anyone in the way you just were.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” she responded defensively. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

“You’ve lost my business permanently,” I informed her. “Next time, think about who is listening before you start running your mouth.” I left the store in a hurry.

I immediately regretted losing my temper. That’s not the way to change anything or anyone. I couldn’t help but be filled with anger given the situation. It made me think about times in which I am defenseless against what people say. I know how I’d feel if I was in the position of those Latino men. And I know how much worse I’d feel if nobody else recognized it being wrong.

I doubt that the woman at Citgo has changed her attitudes towards Latin American immigrants. I don’t know that she ever will. What I hope she did realize is that if she disparages a group of people when no representatives of that group are near her, she still can get herself into trouble for it. I hope she sees now that it is possible to be offensive without offending someone on an individual basis. And, fundamentally, I hope she can learn to show tolerant attitudes in her public work place – no one should have to listen to hateful speech when trying to buy their gas.