I "Spic" ‘E The English Too

So, its morning rush hour and I am at the subway station at 42nd street pacing as I wait for the delayed-due-to-construction trains to arrive. I was visualizing the worst that may come of the situation being that it was now ten minuets to 11, my start time at work. I prayed and the blood vessels on my head swelled because I knew that the angst of anxiety would only begin to settle once I was seated and en route. Boy was I wrong. I would have honestly preferred getting to work late, then deal with the soon to unfold.

The train finally arrives and we all rush to the doors to find a spot where we could constantly look at our wrist watches and silently curse the travel delays. Prior to the doors closing, a woman rushes in, grabs hold of the closing doors and ungracefully worms her way in at the last second. Anyone could tell that she, like many of us, was quite agitated. She hurriedly looks about looking for someone whom she might ask her urgent question. Her victim is a fellow commuter of Latin American decent on his way to the day to day dealings of his American dream. I figured her to be Irish American due to the Irish wedding ring she sported on her ring finger. Without the use of an excuse me, she asks the gentleman whether or not the train was running express. In his best English he replays that he doesn’t speak English. Annoyed and not yet placated to her liking. She turns around and not-quite-under-her-breath says, “Fucking spic.”

My eyeballs must have widened to the size of silver dollars as I bit down on my bottom lip and all kinds of come-to-the-rescue thoughts raced my mind. How F-ing ignorant and racist of her! She must have over looked the fact that a little more then a century ago her forefathers, patiently waiting at Ellis Island, were too considered second class citizens in the U.S. of A. I was so pissed off at her and her pretentious assimilated forth generation antics.

Well, so much for the luck of the Irish because as chance would have it I was the closest soon-to-be victim in her proximity. She turns to me and repeats her question with the same air of importance. I replied, “Sorry honey, I don’t “spic” (as I made little quote gestures with my index and middle fingers) English either.” She gagged on either her tongue or the bile that shoot up her esophagus as she realized someone caught her at her discriminatory indiscretion. She quickly said, “Oh I am sorry I didn’t mean to-”. I cut her off and with a disapproving look of contempt and replied, “Oh but you did”, and walked away.

Ah, sweet victory.