“Are you some sort of …Goth?”
Understand, I had just exited Ralphs with around $100 in groceries (which of course meant that I had only two bags of meat and produce).
I remember doing a sort of comic book “HUH?” as I realized that this farmer-type with mud or worse on his shoes and a sacred
(read: “Holey”) set of bib overalls with a wife beater shirt underneath was talking to me.
I paused unsure as to what to do. He actually seemed hostile. I was only passing by, going to my car to load my provisions into it and quietly go home.
He squinted uncomfortably in the sun.
Flee or fight!
“W-What?”
He stood his ground like a very old marine or something.
“Are you one of them weird Goths? Wearing all black? Listening to weird music…?”
I blinked and gathered myself feeling that I’d been too slow. I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Well until they invent “null” color, I believe I’ll wear black.”
“Smartass?”
“I, ummm, near as I can figure, I was here minding my own business and then by the tone of your voice, I’m suddenly being insulted for how I look- and I’m the smartass?”
I paused a beat awaiting a retort. When I saw none coming I continued:
“Okay I wear a lot of black in the winter. I’d wear a lot of black year round if it wasn’t so damn hot here most times, but now that the sun has taken a vacation, I can wear my black. How does this affect you? Why might you care?”
“You’re different; too different.”
“You asked if I was a Goth. You’re noticing this beard, right? Mostly grey…? Well, I don’t know much about Goths but I have never seen an old one, so maybe they just turn into vampires or burn up in the sun…”
I spread my arms to direct his attention to the full sun we were both standing in.
“But I’ve done none of that. See? The sun doesn’t bother my exposed skin…What I’m saying that If I ever was a Goth… number one- they wouldn’t have me-
number two- I’d have “aged out” long ago-
And three- “I don’t listen to the right music.”
“So why are you wearin’ black?”
“Why are you wearing bib overalls? You probably have a plug of tobacco on your hip pocket and have an old coke bottle in your truck that you spit that disgusting tobacco juice into.
I just think I look a bit better in black, and looking at both of us we’ve long ago seen the best version of ourselves in the fucking mirror. You of all people I’ve met today should relate to that!”
“Then what’s that funny hat you’re wearing?”
I took a moment.
“It’s called a Kufi. There’s a lot of skin cancer in my family and this covers up all that exposed real estate. It also keeps me cool ‘cause it’s ventilated and keeps me safe. It’s a 1000 year old design. I figure they’ve got it down by now…”
“Muslims wear those hats.”
“Yes they do.”
“Are you a Muslim?”
“That would be a Muslim Goth…is this what you’re asking me? Am I a Muslim Goth? I was a rotten Catholic, so I wouldn’t figure that I’d be any better at being a Muslim. I just like the fucking hat okay?”
“Why weren’t you a good Catholic?”
“I asked too many Questions….sort of like you are now. Be well, bye!”
“Fucking weirdo.”
As a parting shot, I remember offering: “You might try being nicer to people who are simply minding their own business…You never know how the next guy will react. And, you might not like it.”
I kept walking, rolling my cart, which wanted to wander to the left a bit. I was glad for the distraction, just hoping that was the end of it…
