Just Off Center

I am a terrible human being. At least that’s what my gut reaction to something I’ve done recently would have me believe. I’ve laughed at a person who should not be laughed at. I’ll amend that. I’ve lost my shit laughing my bloody ass off at a person who should not be laughed at. It goes against the face that I put forward. We all have our face that we put forward to the world when we go to work or out with friends or on a date. It’s the way we want other people to see us. It’s also a more careful version of our true selves. We may have our prejudices and biases for or against certain things. But out of respect for other people and the fear of embarrassment we don’t make off color comments to people we’re not sure would appreciate them. I’ll give an example.

Just after I graduated high school I found myself with a whole summer at my disposal and not much to do. I had a job, but on my off hours I usually had nobody to hang out with or any hobbies, so I would just drive around. One day, I decided to drop by my grandparents’ house and pay them a visit. I knew that my grandpa was going in for eye surgery that next week and I was in the neighborhood, so why not be a good grandson and say hello?

When I got there my grandma was home but my grandpa was still at work. I don’t know what it was he did, but it was with his hands. He always came home wearing dirty blue coveralls and smelling of machine oil. Grandma fixed me a sandwich and asked about college. We chit chatted for about half an hour. The entire time, I’m trying not to seem like I was only there because I had nothing better to do. It’s nice to see them, but come on; these are grandparents. So I smiled and helped move things around for a little bit.

Grandpa got home and came in through the kitchen door. He looked tired and cranky. But then he was always a pretty surly old curmudgeon. None of the grandkids really knew much about him. But since one of his grandchildren was there he tried to be pleasant, and after a few minutes I could tell that it was becoming less of an act. I had the distinct impression that my grandparents had been squabbling either that morning or the previous night, and that the fight was not yet over. But we all put on our best behavior for each other.

After a few more minutes I decided to leave. I told them I had other errands to run, but that it was really nice to see them. I hugged my grandma and shook my grandpa’s hand. On my way down the steps to my ’82 Chevy Citation my grandpa imparted these words of caring and wisdom:

“Alright Mike. Say hi to your mom. Take care of yourself. And don’t let a nigger take your job.”

I stood there shocked. Grandpa was never one for tact, but this was the most blatantly racist thing I’d ever heard from a family member. In fact, this conversation was the most that he had ever spoken to me to my knowledge. I might have liked to ask him for some clarification at another time. But it turned out that he had some other complications besides his eyes, and he died in the hospital about a week later. So that last sentence was the crown jewel of advice from him to me. This was the legacy that he would want me to live up to. Well I did say hi to my mother for him. I do try to take care of myself, though I fail more often than I succeed. And to date I don’t believe I’ve ever had an employer replace me with an African American. So I guess he’d be proud…I guess.

My point in all this is that it was only at that last moment that my grandpa either felt it would be appropriate or decided that I just needed to hear these words. His intentions are uncertain, and will stay that way. But it makes me wonder how it is that even among family we believe that we should gown our tongues because what we truly wish to do or say may be seen as offensive. Why don’t we all just speak our minds? And when we hear or see something that strikes us as funny though it isn’t meant to be, why don’t we just laugh at it?

And now to why I’m a terrible person. Two days ago, I asked my coworker, Mike, to drive me from work to a tire store where Nina’s car was ready to be picked up. Mike drives a big ass blue Suburban, so the seats are higher from the ground allowing us to see into the vehicles around us. As we approached a stoplight I saw one of those long vans used with three or four rows of seats. Upon further examination, I further realized that the passengers onboard were of the “special” persuasion.

I know almost nothing of mental retardations. I don’t find drooling, large headed mentally challenged people to be funny just because of how they are. That’s the kind of shit that stupid, immature little boys do. I actually am reminded of this time when a young man with Bells Palsy approached Nina and her Hell Boy looking arms after she had Carpal Tunnel surgery. They were wrapped with so much gauze and tape that they were twice as thick as her biceps. The young boy just walked up to her from her mother and asked what happened to her. Nina, not wanting to get into a lengthy discussion with this nice guy who probably wouldn’t understand anyway said, “Oh, I just hurt myself”. The boy just got this really sad and solemn look on his face and gave her a big hug. Nina had been holding back most of her emotions so this sent her over the edge and she started sobbing uncontrollably at the boy’s sweet gesture. The mother just looked on with pride and love. I was touched too. It was the most kindness Nina had received from a stranger in a long time, maybe ever. So, when I see a retarded (is it alright to say that?) person I think of that and just try to divert my eyes like most people. And that’s what I was just about to do when I saw the woman in the back seat.

The woman in the back seat was facing the rear of the van. She was obviously mentally retarded in some way. Her eyes looked slow and her head pointed low. Mike and I were just about to face forward when all of the sudden her hands emerged in sight. Within her grasp was a white cotton towel that had been rolled up into a tube shape. And without warning this woman opened her mouth and started eating the fucking towel. I mean she was shoving it in inches at a time, clamping her maw down and making room for more. She was determined to get this entire towel into her mouth. She held it with one hand and began to pound on the back end of the tube with the palm of her other hand. Her eyes looked as sleepy as before, except that she was shoving this cloth phallus down her throat.

Mike and I just gasped and turned our heads forward. And tried to stifle our laughter. But it was no use. It was just too random and surreal. We had to cup our hands over our faces and turn our heads toward the driver’s side door. But we just lost it. It was one of those laughs that has you screaming instead of laughing and where you start pounding on your leg or the dashboard. When the light turned green we were still teary-eyed. But we drove away and never saw the van again.

After a couple moments more, Mike started to feel bad about having just laughed out loud a retarded person. And I could feel it welling up inside me too. But what could I do? It was fucking hysterical. I mean what would you do if you saw something so strange? Should I have said “Gosh, Mike do you suppose there’s some medical premise behind the attempted deep-throating of a cotton towel?” Or perhaps I should have just not looked at all. I mean I could have rolled down the window and ask the glottally gifted woman to marry me or just pointed and screamed in laughter. But I didn’t. I just enjoyed the humor of a situation I didn’t create. Then again, maybe I’m just rotten by genetics. Maybe when I get old, I’ll also become a “don’t let a nigger take your job” kind of guy. Only time will tell.

But right or wrong, that shit was fucking funny.