Every day of my life I think about how I need to
get better at Spanish. Couple years back I rode the bus from L.A. to New
Orleans, and until we hit El Paso, I was the only gringo on the bus as it
crawled along the highway close to the border. I hadn’t had a shower since
Chicago (having gone to Seattle by bus, then down to L.A. by train since
Chicago), and baby wipes in the bathroom wasn’t cutting it. Sat next to this
nice bilingual woman though, who said nothing about how I stank, and even
shared her George Lopez special on her ipad with me. It was chill.
Where I used to live out in the country, there was
people across the road with confederate flags still up, and they was on that
immigrant hate shit, I’m sure. I never got that, because if somebody’s taking
your job, is that the worker’s fault, or the bossman’s fault? If your boss is
hiring somebody for lower wage and pushing you out the door, why are you mad at
the other worker? That’s a dude in the same situation you are, out here
struggling to survive on this goddamned greedy ass Earth. I’d rather have
immigrants next door than confederate flags anyways.
Nonetheless, I gotta get better with mi español. I
look forward to be an old ass gringo somewhere where it’s not white as fuck,
reading Galeano at a café that makes an ojo negro with cayenne.
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