Who’s the Racist?

There was a raucous crowd on a late Saturday afternoon at LAX. Everything they say about the airport is true, and I only found myself there due to a complete rookie error and an excruciating Lyft ride from the Burbank airport. I wedged myself into an open seat at a bar near the end of one of the terminals and could tell there was some vacationing going on due to the proliferation of shorts, sandals and T-shirts with alcohol and resort logos. From conversations around me, a lot of folks were heading to Costa Rica and Hawaii.

I don’t travel a ton nor do I hang out at airport bars, but with six hours to kill it seemed like a good way to pass the time. My first discussion was with the gentleman to my right who was visiting his son in Los Angeles from Rhode Island. He was beaming with pride as he told me about his kid’s role as one of the main engineers on Elon’s SpaceX Project. He’s a rocket scientist in the truest sense of the word. He had always built rockets and similar contraptions growing up, went to M.I.T. and is now living his dream. The proud Father referred to Elon in a very familiar sense and said he was visiting his son for the last time in California as he followed Elon to Texas.

To my left and wrapping around the other side of the large rectangular bar were the revelers. The intoxication levels were rising and the bartenders were keeping the mood light and the alcohol flowing. There was an island with liquor bottles and taps that split the bar in half, with a black male bartender on one side and a female black bartender on our side. They worked as a team and circled the island but mainly stuck to their side.

We learned a lot about Simone as she swapped stories with the crowd. Married a partner named Mike, which came up a lot because the guy a seat down was named Mike. Lots of “oh I know how you Mikes are jokes''. We learned about the understandably tough times during the pandemic as she naturally peppered her remarks with lots of dears and sweeties. She has a big dog she didn't think she would like but now loves and is an avid football fan, with lots of tales about her family yelling at the games. College football was on in the background and she made sure to check with everyone about which games they wanted to watch. She’s a top-notch bartender and would have killed it at the neighborhood watering hole as much as she did at an airport bar in a terrible airport that was devoid of character.

I always wonder how many bartenders roll with the flow of the audience and maybe spin a slightly different yarn each time based on their mood and the occasion. If she was doing it, I couldn’t tell. I also appreciated her take on the ridiculous cost of the drinks and her assurance that she made them a tad bit stronger to make up for it. I wasn’t so sure about that. Two Vodka mules later I believed her. 

It was all good and the time was flying by. I got to know the couple next to me who live in the South and run a technology company in Haiti. They were originally from Canada but partially relocated to New Orleans because it’s New Orleans and closer to their business. They seemed like good people who are committed to the 150 employees that work in their manufacturing facility. She speaks French and personally facilitated training and knew a lot about their individual stories and challenges in a struggling country where the average wage was $.50 a day. Her pride was evident as she told me they pay their staff $5.00 an hour. A pregnant pause ensued but she was feeling the stiff drinks and I’m not sure she noticed it. Pretty sure I’m thinking what you’re thinking, $5.00 an hour, isn’t that a bit light? Based on what I could observe at the bar and their lifestyle, I don’t think they’d be content working for $5.00 an hour. I get it, corporations need to control costs to be profitable, and I’m sure the employees are…mostly…grateful. Two white Canadians traveling back and forth between their home up north, New Orleans and a country in turmoil while taking care of those good Haitians, I wasn’t feeling it. Looking back, maybe that’s where my mood went a little sideways.

I was seated towards one end of the open rectangle and there were about eight chars to my left and another ten that stretched along the closed end of the bar. I was kind of on the fringe but still close enough to trade a few quips here and there and join the rollicking discussion. The almost exclusively white vacation crowd spent a while on college football, which I know next to nothing about, and then moved on to other sports. There were some divers in the group so water activities came up, which Simone made clear didn’t interest her. A couple on the corner brought up pickleball and Simone made an exaggerated “what in the world is that” face. The group made a few attempts to explain it but the drinks didn’t help and she wasn’t getting it. I piped in with a light-hearted “it’s a white people thing”...because it is, which made Simone laugh out loud as we exchanged a glance of mutual understanding.

I ruined it. An uncomfortable silence crept over the group and the roar was reduced to a murmur. Although the drinks were still flowing and people were chatty, the spirited comradery evaporated. I kind of felt bad because I was worried they might slow down their consumption and that coupled with the enthusiasm could impact her tips. She seemed fine and we chatted a bit more and had a few laughs, no more and no less than how much she chatted with everyone else. Like I said, she was a pro.

Reflecting back, I clearly crossed a line and probably shouldn’t have said it. Prior to my comment everyone was on the same page and getting along with race and socioeconomic status blurred. Or were they? Like the $5.00 per hour Haitians, is it easier to coexist when we pretend everything is okay and that we are truly on the same page? Maybe it’s easier if they’re employees on an assembly line and she’s a bartender. If it were a white bartender I wouldn’t have said that, was I the racist? Not everyone knows what pickleball is, so maybe the group was reacting to my racist assumption.

I’m also wondering if it’s simply because I pointed out there was a racial difference at all. No doubt it’s always an awkward conversation, especially in mixed audiences who don’t know each other. Maybe some of them realized they had their own hang-ups or prejudices, or maybe it’s just because I pointed out the obvious and they felt kind of dumb or silly. They could have been thinking, who’s the self-righteous jerk at the other end of the bar making us feel bad; we’re on vacation and want to have fun. All good by me, although I’m sure I would say it again.

A bit of icing on the cake was when a couple bellied up to the far corner diagonal from where I was sitting. They were young, fit and attractive, probably hardcore CrossFit devotees and fans of mixed martial arts. I don’t know, just seemed that way. He was wearing a T-shirt and red hat with subtle Hawaiian logos and seemed to be stressed about something he was reading on his phone. She was attentive and rubbed his back as he seemed concerned but not able to express himself verbally. She had a simple gray T-shirt with some type of beachy logo and a black hat with a long blond ponytail neatly cascading out of the hole in the back.

That further corner of the bar was a bit distant and had its own ecosystem. The gate directly adjacent was clearly a trip to Hawaii, with lots of adults in colorful garb and no kids - they’re back in school. The pretty couple settled in between a couple of traveling parties who had started trading shots and stories. They were a more diverse group and were equally celebratory. Thank goodness not my fault this time, but once again the mood shifted. What I didn’t mention was that the woman’s oversized black trucker’s hat had TRUMP emblazoned in gold across the front. It didn't stand out like the traditional red Make America Great Again lid, but it made a statement. Almost a more deliberate statement as it was customized hate speech. Sure enough, as they sat there and preened each other, their presence sunk in and the fun dissipated, Both groups turned their backs and more subtly reveled.

They were focused on themselves and didn’t seem to notice the impact they had on the people around them, and they definitely didn’t seem to care. Maybe they were used to it. Their flight boarded, the bar emptied and it felt like LAX again. I paid my exorbitant tab and moved on.

Who was the bigger foil? Me with a socially awkward and potentially gaslighting comment or the black and gold Trump hat. Not sure, and until writing this I didn’t even think about how those moments overlapped. Granted the cult of Trump brings a lot more to the table than just race, but both scenarios shared a common theme of creating a divisive and less hospitable environment and reminds me once again that our country has a long way to go…and maybe I do too.

Living Her Best Life

We were fortunate to find a quieter spot that fit the extended family in the back of a local restaurant. The only person sharing the space was a woman on her laptop with bare feet propped up on a seat. She had clearly been there for a while. As we ordered our food a long line suddenly gathered at the walk-up station, stressing out the employees as they answered questions and processed orders. The unshod patron padded up to the counter with a maybe half-full double jumbo coffee cup and one of the staff graciously offered to quickly fill it up while juggling multiple tasks.  She curtly said no and asked him to top it off with warm almond milk.  He mustered all of his customer service skills and her to be patient while he kept up with the hungry diners. Amidst the crowd, she took the opportunity to launch into a shoeless series of extended yoga poses as the world swirled around her.

P.S. My more empathetic and wise daughter keeps reminding me that I need to let people live their best lives. She is right and I am weak.