The last few blogs have been kind of heavy, so I’m gonna
tell you about a time when I had my prejudicial, stereotypical mindset turned
on its head. I was living in the
fabulous Southwest at the time, Phoenix, to be specific. Our new family of three had been just “sectioned-out”
of the Marine Corps, away from the privileges (like cheap groceries) we had at the
base PX in Southern California. I still
had base privileges up to a year after my husband was discharged, but I had to
find the nearest base to our residence in order to use them, and that meant I’d
be driving forty-five minutes to get food. We were both students now, living on
what we made waiting tables in between classes, so the savings I’d get at the
PX was worth the gas. Since Mike was
working more than me, I was the only one who had the time to traverse the
desert for food staples, with our new baby in tow.
Most trips were uneventful, and this trip seemed to be no
exception, until I heard a loud bang! I
thought I’d become the victim of a shooter, hiding behind giant Saguaros, and
shooting at tires of unsuspecting motorists as they flew down the freeway. I immediately felt a fierce pulling on the
right side of my car and a horrible thumping, necessitating some quick
thinking, in order to keep my car under control. After all, the speed limit on that particular
stretch of highway is 75 mph., and I had an eighteen-wheeler right behind me! I remember my dad telling me to keep the
wheel straight no matter what the car was doing. I later learned that following Dad’s advice
saved my life that day.
Thankfully, I was able to get the car to the side of the
freeway safely. I had not fallen prey to a prankster. I had a flat tire. All the while, my sleeping daughter didn’t
stir from her nap. I’ve never had to
change a flat tire before, but I sucked in a deep breath anyway, stepped out
into the 118 degree heat, and proceeded to lay out the spare and all the
necessary tools on the ground. Just as I
started to make sense of the directions printed on the spare tire hatch, an old
green Chevy truck rolled off the highway, right toward me - and my sleeping
baby.
I confess, I panicked.
What I saw rolling toward me was a vintage Chevy truck, with
two Latino drivers, in a decorated cab, replete with hanging ball fringe and
striped blanket covering the dash. Oh Lord, it’s Cheech and Chong! I have lived in lots of places where there is
a large population of Mexicans, Central American Indians, South American
Indians, and not many of my encounters with them has been positive. Our brains are hardwired to take in little
bits of information and make quick assessments, for safety’s sake, so that we
can make quicker decisions in the future.
In this case, I had become used to the shenanigans of fellow Latino employees
in the places I had worked, so seeing these two men instantly foreshadowed
danger to me.
When they got out of the truck and walked toward me, my
first instinct was to run, but I stayed in my spot, rooted. They smiled at me and I froze. They continued to approach, and the next
minute I know they are using hand motions and a blur of Spanish directed toward
my car. One man quickly jumped back in
the truck. Please God, don’t let them kidnap me and leave
my baby behind! He brought the truck
closer, and I spied the lift mounted in the truck bed. Finally I started to breathe.
They’re going to fix my car!
In very broken English, one man told me they were going to
take my back tire off to put up front, and then they would put my spare on the
back. That way, he assured me, it would
be safer to drive my front wheel drive home. They used the lift to pull my car
up and exchange flat for back tire, and back for spare. They were like a professional pit crew. I begged them to let me give them something
for their trouble. They said, “No
way. We missed our exit and saw you as
were coming toward the next exit, so we must have been needed here. If it were my wife or daughter, I would want
someone to stop and help. We’re glad to
do it.”
And with that, the two literally headed into the sunset, in
search of an exit so they could turn around.
I was ashamed of myself for having first thought they would hurt me,
just because of their ethnicity. I’m so
glad they missed their exit, and I’m glad they did what they did, because they
not only changed my tire; they changed me.
I will never look at anyone the same way, nor will I forget the kindness
of these gentle strangers, and lest I be tempted to stereotype again, I will
remember my Cheech and Chong encounter and smile, because I know that angels
come in every color.
Hey, if I hit a nerve, a funny bone, or wanna tell us a story of your own misguided prejudice, leave some feedback! I'd love to hear what you've got to say!
