Post by Okwes on Sept 21, 2007 1:17:29 GMT -5
Even At Breakfast We Don’t Fit In
I am a morning person, and when I travel I show up when the dining room opens and let the hotel start my day with a hot breakfast. Today I was the first one down. I opened my USA Today and began looking for interesting news.
A few minutes later two men in suits walked in and took a table near me. I do business, but I do not think of myself as a businessman, and these were businessman types. Expensive suits, roll-on luggage. One was overweight and crude looking --- he’d have to upgrade his style if he wanted promotion. The other was short and cheerful. They nodded to me but opened their newspapers without speaking to each other. I guessed they were salesmen who traveled together. After coffee they would start talking about their products or the customer they would see later in the day.
Next a couple came in. Nice looking, young. The woman had frizzy hair tied with a hair band; her companion, in khakis and lumberjack shirt, had the college student look. I liked them for a minute or two. But they were in a hurry and snapped at the waitress, changing their orders several times to find the quickest meals. Then they too opened their papers.
The waitress, a stout black woman, was the only good company. “Nice day.” “Have you far to go?” “My that’s going to be a long flight.” Professional friendliness – Just what you want at a hotel breakfast.
While I was ordering my omelet the woman with the hair gasped and put down her paper. The waitress stopped writing my order. “How horrible! There’s been a triple murder in Billings. Three people shot in a Burger King.”
The small businessman shook his head and looked solemn. “Billings is the west, you know. They all have guns out there.” The waitress shook her head. “We have guns here too. There was a shooting across the street from the hotel. Just ten minutes before I was due to go home --- I heard the shots. It was terrifying.”
We started to express sympathy for her but the student brought us back to the Montana news. “This is interesting. The people killed were all Indians. Crow, from the local reservation.” I said nothing and looked away.
That roused the fat businessman. “These people! They leave the reservation for one day and get killed. You think It doesn’t make sense ...” pause “… but maybe it does. I bet another Indian killed them. A relative perhaps? That’s the way they are.”
“Exactly right.” The student sipped his coffee and looked wise. “They hold their grievances and then explode. We studied Indians in Developmental Psychology --- it’s the way they are brought up. In fact I saw a TV show recently about a killing like this one.”
Everyone nodded, but I couldn’t let that pass. “Yes, but those were Pacific Coast Indians. Very different from Crow. And in that show a white man was the killer.”
“But they were all from the same awful world,” the student said. “Impoverished, bitter people, stuck in the barren countryside. Probably inbred. They can’t help it, that’s the tragedy.
I gave up. “I am a Sicangu Sioux. I notice I can help it.”
Everyone looked at me and then picked up their newspapers. The short businessman said the weather in Montana would be cool and fair, something to look forward to. We all applauded this good news.
People get killed every day, but there is no killing stereotypes. These people would continue their travels thinking of the Burger King Indian Massacre and forgetting me.
I am a morning person, and when I travel I show up when the dining room opens and let the hotel start my day with a hot breakfast. Today I was the first one down. I opened my USA Today and began looking for interesting news.
A few minutes later two men in suits walked in and took a table near me. I do business, but I do not think of myself as a businessman, and these were businessman types. Expensive suits, roll-on luggage. One was overweight and crude looking --- he’d have to upgrade his style if he wanted promotion. The other was short and cheerful. They nodded to me but opened their newspapers without speaking to each other. I guessed they were salesmen who traveled together. After coffee they would start talking about their products or the customer they would see later in the day.
Next a couple came in. Nice looking, young. The woman had frizzy hair tied with a hair band; her companion, in khakis and lumberjack shirt, had the college student look. I liked them for a minute or two. But they were in a hurry and snapped at the waitress, changing their orders several times to find the quickest meals. Then they too opened their papers.
The waitress, a stout black woman, was the only good company. “Nice day.” “Have you far to go?” “My that’s going to be a long flight.” Professional friendliness – Just what you want at a hotel breakfast.
While I was ordering my omelet the woman with the hair gasped and put down her paper. The waitress stopped writing my order. “How horrible! There’s been a triple murder in Billings. Three people shot in a Burger King.”
The small businessman shook his head and looked solemn. “Billings is the west, you know. They all have guns out there.” The waitress shook her head. “We have guns here too. There was a shooting across the street from the hotel. Just ten minutes before I was due to go home --- I heard the shots. It was terrifying.”
We started to express sympathy for her but the student brought us back to the Montana news. “This is interesting. The people killed were all Indians. Crow, from the local reservation.” I said nothing and looked away.
That roused the fat businessman. “These people! They leave the reservation for one day and get killed. You think It doesn’t make sense ...” pause “… but maybe it does. I bet another Indian killed them. A relative perhaps? That’s the way they are.”
“Exactly right.” The student sipped his coffee and looked wise. “They hold their grievances and then explode. We studied Indians in Developmental Psychology --- it’s the way they are brought up. In fact I saw a TV show recently about a killing like this one.”
Everyone nodded, but I couldn’t let that pass. “Yes, but those were Pacific Coast Indians. Very different from Crow. And in that show a white man was the killer.”
“But they were all from the same awful world,” the student said. “Impoverished, bitter people, stuck in the barren countryside. Probably inbred. They can’t help it, that’s the tragedy.
I gave up. “I am a Sicangu Sioux. I notice I can help it.”
Everyone looked at me and then picked up their newspapers. The short businessman said the weather in Montana would be cool and fair, something to look forward to. We all applauded this good news.
People get killed every day, but there is no killing stereotypes. These people would continue their travels thinking of the Burger King Indian Massacre and forgetting me.