He thought again, as his brother-in-law tried to make the self checkout terminal work, how some people who claim to know a lot about technology don’t really know anything about technology. “It’s not working because you aren’t following the instructions, dipshit,” he wanted to shout. That would not play well in the condo, though, he felt sure.
He was not terribly happy about the condo either. Usually they rented a house down in Garden City, or maybe even out on Pauley’s Island if Vance, the brother-in-law, had had a particularly good year. Vance sold radio ads. It had not been a good year. He would have been fine with paying for the whole thing, but Ginny insisted that they let her brother pay half. She did not want to insult Vance in the eyes of his new girlfriend.
So here he was, stuck in the self checkout with a guy who can’t understand why this doesn’t work like the one at home. He decided to stay out of it until it was time to pay. (Neither the girlfriend nor the wife being around, Vance was sure to let him know.) He looked around and was surprised to see a fairly integrated group of shoppers.
Or, one might more fairly say, a diverse group of shoppers. Just because black, white, and hispanic people were in the store at the same time did not mean much. Nobody was making eye contact. Especially not the woman walking with the assistant manager over to the case where they keep the condoms. Although it’s not just condoms. They have Nicorette in there too.
Given that her next stop was to ask at the counter for a pack of Marlboros, he figured she was not stopping smoking tonight. He realized that the same items in a man’s hands (including the six pack of something reasonably priced but not cheap) would not necessarily mean anything, but in her’s it was almost certain to indicate that she and someone else would be having sex later.
“Not that there is any reason why she shouldn’t if she wants to,” he tried to think as quickly as possible so as not to appear judgmental to himself. Too late. He knew she knew what he was thinking and he avoided eye contact like everyone else. But as he swung his eyes the other way, he could not help coming into the field of vision of a black man about his same age.
Wife and kids in tow, it looked like the family had just gotten in and was stocking up on a Sunday night for a week at the beach. “I’ll bet they got to rent a house,” he almost said out loud. But you couldn’t resent them for too long because the kids were obviously worn out from the trip and were going to be a handful getting into bed. They would have a nice week though. He felt good about that. Good enough to feel good about paying even.
It lasted until they hit the door. Vance was a few steps ahead and missed it. You could see the cross coming first though. Obviously not the t-shirt of some fellowship group down on a “mission trip.” Judging from the grease in his hair and the stagger of his walk, this guy was on some other sort of mission.
Sure enough, “Ku Klux Klan” right there on the front, underneath the black leather vest. He was stunned not so much by the idea that there were Klan around, but that there was anyone willing to wear the shirt out in public. There would be plenty of opportunities for unpleasantness as soon as the guy got in the door, but he hoped the family would miss him on their way to their beach rental. Looking across to the door on the other side, he saw them pushing a loaded cart toward a Chevy Tahoe. Vance looked back to see what the sigh of relief was all about.