This strip from Secret Asian Man about an incident at Denny's brought back memories from the one and only time I thought that someone might actually kill me.
Eleven years ago, I was in Baton Rouge. We were staying at a Red Roof Inn there and commuting into New Orleans every morning for Mardi Gras festivities. One evening, while back in Baton Rouge late one evening, we went to the Denny's which was 2 minutes from the hotel. After we were served without incident, we sat down and were enjoying our meal and each other's (somewhat drunken) company. And then this...stereotype...walks in.
This man looked like he was about 60 years old. He wore a tattered off-white dress jacket and pants, an off-white ten gallon hat, worn fancy shoes, a string tie and a Colonel Sanders moustache. And he seemed so drunk that you could get a buzz just standing next to him. Like I said, he was some kind of stereotype. The one thing that really stood out, however, weren't his words, or even his long, drawn-out way of speaking, but the giant gun he wore on his loosely-worn belt. It was as unpolished as the rest of him, not sparkling in the least, just dull. But oh, did it have a presence.
The man had entered into a lively conversation with the clerk. I have no idea how the clerk felt about the man, or what he looked like. I just know that he happened to be white while the rest of the staff appeared (for what I could see) to be black. Then he uttered the immortal (in my mind) phrase:
"Yuh cain't be too careful wi' them black folk."
No, no, I guess you cain't.
For emphasis, he patted his gun, as though he were some kind of experienced coon-hunter, and he put a fierce edge on the word "black". I was frozen. It was a time-stopping moment. I thought that this man wanted to kill me. My friends would be in harm's way, as would other people. But would he start with the black staff members? Did he even see me? I don't know, I was fixated on the gun. How could he hate me so much that he would kill me? What kind of place allows drunken bigots to walk around with guns? Maybe this trip was a bad idea. Mom never liked me travelling anywhere. If anything happened, it would prove her right. Even if I survived the shootout without a scratch, I would never be able to go anywhere without a huge fight. I would have to never tell her about anything. Okay, maybe there's an escape route somewhere; I haven't scanned the whole restaurant—
Suddenly, the man turned and left without incident. I breathed out. We were all a little shaken; we decided to get the hell out of there and not go back. The shock wore off relatively quickly though, for levity, good friends and alcohol can make any situation lighter. Looking back, though, I wonder how I was able to be so nonchalant about it. I must have told myself to act the way I figured any American in the area would act; as though I were used to it.
By the way, I don't think that I have stepped foot in a Denny's since then.
Who do they think they are? Surely they realized that people were complaining and decided to tell them about it. Instead of making up a plausible story about why the eggs are smaller, they try to insult our intelligence in a cute way.
