There is a reputable grocery chain that has numerous stores and
grocery distribution centers, in 8 states. I probably know more about this chain
than the average person because my husband is a professional driver with
them.
I have had the pleasure of attending banquets where the insider
information is shared and the drivers, the heartbeat of the company, are
celebrated. Last year, my husband was a nominee for “driver of the year.” I
left that banquet with a lovely little envelope that he promptly handed me
after he was gifted.
Most people would agree that there is only one other grocery chain
that might be considered its rival. Both chains have delightful ambiances, and
the service is stellar. I think we have them beat now that we have
"select" bar service. Yes, you can grab a glass of wine prior to (or
after) grocery shopping. I love it! Naturally, I only shop at the one that puts
money in our pocket. As an entrepreneur, I understand how vital it is to
support what supports you.
Another feature that always puts a smile on my face is their
"reserved veteran" parking slots. I always pull in proudly and hop
out of the car. On a few occasions, I have gotten the impression that passersby
doubted I ever served in the military. I shrug it off and head into the
store.
A week ago, my cousin came to visit from Pennsylvania. I was
really excited about seeing her, even though she really came to hang out with
my daughter.
At some point, we went to the store. As I pulled into the reserved
stall, I said out loud, "Every time I pull into this spot, I feel judged
or as if people doubt that I served.” Then, we all jumped out of the car
laughing at something else (who knows what) and continued enjoying each other's
company.
At first, I didn't notice the big, black truck that was parked
behind my car. I didn't realize that a Caucasian gentleman was asking me a
question. I didn't know that my service in the military was actually being
challenged.
When I recognized what was going on, I could hear my daughter
saying, "No sir, no....you are not going to do that to my mother!" At
the same time, I was asking him to repeat his question. He did so quite
willingly. "What branch of service were you in?" The snarl on his
face was evident. He looked like the cat who had swallowed the canary. You know
that "I gotcha look" of someone who is so sure that they caught you
with your hand in the cookie jar?
I was so stunned, so pissed off, and so shocked that I found
myself asking him, rhetorically, "what? - what did you say?"
Before he could answer, I was moving toward his vehicle. I have no idea what I
was going to say or what I was going to do. I just knew that I needed some
space and opportunity, and I was sure the rest of it would work itself out.
My daughter, who has a much cooler head, literally put her elbow
and forearm into my chest and said, "No, mommy back up.......etc."—all
the while, letting the gentleman know he needed to move on.
When he realized, based on how passionately we were dealing with
things, that I must have served in the United States Military, he tried to
clean it up by saying he was just curious where I served. He was
lying.
When you approach a known veteran, one of the first things you say
is, "Thank you for your service." I have had it happen to me more
times than I can count. I have humbly said it to others. My father and I say it
to each other every year on Veteran's Day. He was lying.
I am not sure what about me said I couldn't possibly be a veteran.
Was it my laughter wafting from the car? My beautiful melanin magic? My gender?
My African styled head wrap? Perhaps it was all of these things bundled up
together.
That entire episode could not have lasted more than 45 seconds,
but it really broke my heart. I tried hard not to let it show in front of my
daughter and my cousin. The sadness settled in my spirit, rumbled around, and
now, it is here on paper.
My daughter, who is always bossy but never aggressive, told me
later that she didn’t want me to approach his vehicle because she saw a rack
and thought he may have a rifle. Really?
I suppose she is right. Anything is possible. How many other
people of color have been shot for less?
As Donald Glover so eloquently penned, “This is America” – and even
though we picked their cotton and nursed their children, no one appreciates our
service.
