Words Bite Back... Sunday, January 30

Somehow I got blamed for the situation that played out in the GS Super Mart parking lot, though I don't really know why. What had happened was Snickers and I stopped in at the mart to use the bank. He got out of the car then so did I and then, like I always do, I locked the door. The front passanger door lock is a bit messed up so it doesn't always unlock or lock when you do the other doors so I always make sure I lock it.

Anyways, just as I swung the door shut Snickers yells out "AMY NOOOOOOOO!!!"

Turns out he had left the car running with the heat cranked, CD still playing, and the keys in the ignition. Did I mention that the car was STILL RUNNING?! Ya, I did. Oh and I should also mention that this is the THIRD TIME he's done this and the MILLIONTH TIME I've told him to get a spare key made. But with no spare key made yet and his cell phone in the car, phoning the insurance company to come bail us out meant calling all insurance companies he could list off (couldn't remember the company he just recently switched to). We opted out of calling just yet and instead took apart one of the windshield wipers in attempt to break into our own car. I ended up waiting inside the store while he tried to break in.

So there I was, in the store watching people watch my husband try to break into our own car. No one cared to call the cops, which I found rather strange, but they watched on like he was some kind of TV show. But that's when some of these uncalled for attention got directed towards me. At first it was one of the mart store workers who did a double take at me and then asked me, "Are you Russian?" Gee, I hate that question. I know what they're implying. Asking me if I am Russian is basically the equivilant to asking me if I am a prostitute. It's a very frustrating question to be comfronted with but sometimes I tell them yes just to see their reaction. Taxi drivers ask me this all the time but when I say no they then bombard me with numerous questions, many of which tend to be personal, like how old I am, where do I live, and so on. But telling a taxi driver "Yes, I am Russian" is always greeted with a double look in the rear view mirror at me and frowned eyebrows but the questioning then comes to a sudden hault. I answered politely to the store clerk who had asked me if I was Russian. She smiled, I smiled and I thought that was that. But when a family of four walked in the store and the father so obviously nudged against his teenager son and said "Look, a Russian girl", I was disgusted. I happen to have many Russian friends, all of which are stuningly beautiful girls that I could only wish to look as pretty as!

My immediate thought was how the heck does his son, who is probably still sporting baby teeth and sporting a puberty-cracking voice, even know, or care for that matter, what his father is talking about?! Regardless, I tried to shake it off. I continued standing there in the store window for some time and then that particular father and his four-person family walked by again and again he commented. I didn't catch their comment but instead threw out a comment at them just as Snickers was walking into the store to get me.

"Hey honey look!" I yelled to Snickers. "That's that perverted man who didn't pay me last night!!!"

And with that everyone at the front entrance of the store stopped, starred at him and watched him squirm in his own skill. Snickers of course had no clue as to what I was talking about but knew enough by my body language to go along with whatever scene it was I was playing out. It wasn't until we got in the car that I told him what had gone down back at the store. Snickers was ticked. Instantly he spun the car around and headed back in the direction of GS Super Mart. "I'll kill him!" he mumbled. I knew he wouldn't go that far with it but if I didn't stop him he'd surely get out of the car and dish out mad beatings on the man. I convienced him to calm down but for the rest of the night he kept on saying sorry to me. He's seen similar scenes play out before, random people calling me a Russian thus implying I'm a prostitute. Snickers tried to cheer me up by taking me to the traditional market for some window shopping and street food but I couldn't shake tonight's turn of events. I couldn't help but look at random eyes starring at me and wonder just how many other people I'll pass tonight who'll write me off as a Russian prostitute.

"Don't worry about that man" he told me later on as we laid on our floor mat. "You always tell me to leave bad people to God and karma but I think karma already got him"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Did you see how ugly his wife was? No wonder he looked at you!" he added.

QUESTION OF THE DAY...
Do I really look Russian?

QUOTE OF THE DAY...
The test of courage comes when we are in the minority. The test of tolerance comes when we are in the majority.
-- Ralph W. Sockman