Hey, Friends! It’s actually Sunday morning right now, and I’m writing this post now because I abandoned my original idea because I need to get something off my chest. A couple days ago, I had an experience that left me very angry and deeply saddened.
I went to my usual gas station and pulled up to what I jokingly refer to as my favorite pump. (It’s really just one of the pumps that is slightly easier to pull up to and away from.) Well, little did I know, this pump must have been someone else’s actual favorite pump. As I began to enter my information for my discount code, I realized that a black truck that I’d seen pull in after me hadn’t left and was just sitting there. I looked up and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. People were getting gas as usual. It was pretty full, so I assumed the truck was just waiting for one of the pumps to open up since he wasn’t parked specifically near any certain one. The truck pulled away loudly, and I assumed it had left. The app I was using had moved things around, so I was having trouble locating the code I needed.
I was wrong about the truck leaving. I heard it before I saw it. It had simply circled around the gas station and pulled up closer to me and my car. The window rolled down, and the white man yelled at me that I should use another pump because the one I was on also had diesel, which he needed. I didn’t answer. I looked inside the car to check on my kid and saw that he was sleeping. I smiled. That was the only comfort I had at the moment. There was someone in front of me getting gas. The black truck was angled in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to pull out. At this point, the man in the truck is yelling and calling me everything but a child of God. The gas attendant runs out and runs over to me yelling, “ARE YOU OKAY?” At this point, the man spits out his window and says, “Go back to where you came from. F****** illegal.” And he sped off in his truck. The attendant stayed with me until my tank was full. He apologized and tried to make small talk.
Attendant (I’ll add that he was an older white man): Sorry about that. You’re okay now. Don’t you worry about idiots like that. He called me a redneck, and I’m not a redneck.
Me: He told me to go back to where I came from. I’m from Maryland.
We both laughed.
I was so full of rage during the drive home that I was shaking. I’ve never been so appreciative of my kid being a deep sleeper. I called my husband. Then, I called my mom. After that, I just needed to sit in silence. This wasn’t my first racist incident. Let’s be for real. I’m in my 40s. However, it is the first one that I’ve experienced here, in Northwest Arkansas, that has been so blatant.
I write children’s books. I write from a place of hope. Yet, the world we live in seems hellbent on crushing every bit of hope that we can manage.
So, my question for you is this: Is it foolish to keep hope alive in a dead situation?
Are there enough people like the attendant who will help when it really counts, or are there more people who will simply keep their heads down and act as if nothing is happening while they keep filling their vehicles and boats with gas?
With the way I’m feeling, maybe I should start writing horror. What do you think?
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Until next Sunday…
-Ash