Jo-el

Chapter 12 AN EDUCATION AT THE BEACH

I took the train west on N Judah to Ocean Beach, still as Dave Murphy. I crossed the inner Great Hwy to the bathrooms by the beach and when I was out of sight I changed my appearance to a fortyish black man with a disheveled beard and an old grey coat. My shoes were tatty and the sleeves of the coat torn. I didn’t want to appear like a beggar, more just a poor black, working guy. I was fascinated and to be honest excited to experience how differently I’d be treated. The wind was sharp and very cold, blowing off the ocean. The waves whipped up white horses and the palm trees bent deeply over. I was comfortable, as if I was cocooned in an electric jacket and pants. My face felt the bitter wind but I was used to that. I crossed back over the road to find a café for lunch. This was going to be interesting.

The café was warm and inviting, freshly mopped floors and spotless checkered, blue table clothes welcomed the patrons. There was a sign at the door to seat yourself. The café was three quarters full, a table for two was available near the back on the right side. I took the seat against the wall so I could watch the people watching me. All the other guests were white, except a young, very pretty, black girl with an equally young white guy by the window. Neither of them paid me any attention. I realized quickly that my garb was by far the least desirable in the establishment. But my clothes were clean and I know my aroma wouldn’t offend the queen.

In fact, most of the patrons ignored me, except for two tables. On the other side of the café also at a table against the wall were two middle aged white women. The one with her back against the wall had looked up and then bent forward and whispered something to her companion. I hadn’t noticed the other lady look around. The second group who looked up when I was making my way to the table were two women and a man, elderly, maybe in their late sixties. I sensed a huddle and whispers as I passed their table. They were sitting not too far from me at a table for four in the open area. Both women had identical, ugly red hats, that flopped low over their ears. They looked like a couple of reindeers gearing up to pull Santa across the frozen wastes. They weren’t eating so I presumed they were waiting for their food.

The waitress, a young white girl, with long, light brown hair and pale, almost albino skin, plonked the menu down on my table, she didn’t say anything. As Dave Murphy, middle aged white Caucasian, I would have been surprised by the curtness. I had no idea what to thing as a fortyish black guy. I said nothing, she was gone before I could open my mouth. I browsed the menu.

I seemed to draw minimal attention, that was good. But then again, I seemed forgotten by the waitress. Five minutes went by, maybe that doesn’t sound like a long time, but I would have liked to order a drink. My annoyance grew when I noticed a single woman, who had arrived after me, sipping something hot from a cup. I waved at the waitress and called, ‘excuse me’ but to no avail. My gesticulating did solicit the attention of several other patrons. Both red hats glanced and growled. I tried to be patient.

Ten minutes passed and no luck. I was upset and begun waving at the waitress once more. Then I noticed a balding, young man, maybe mid-thirties, heading my way from behind the counter. Hallelujah, attention at last. I hadn’t noticed him before, so maybe the manager.

“Excuse me sir,” he almost whispered and didn’t smile. “Can you afford to pay?” He stood there, dead still, a little nervous.

There was a pregnant pause. My lips parted and closed, but no sounds were emitted. It felt like a hush came over the café. The reindeers perked up their noses and their flaps swung back. I swallowed deeply, reached into my pants pocket and removed my wallet. I pulled the notes methodically from their slot, there was more than a hundred dollars there. The man sort of smiled and left, but he didn’t take my order. I felt smug but that quickly turned to anger. He went over to the waitress and said something, she sauntered over to my table and took my order for a BLT, French fries and an ice-tea.

Wow, so far my experience at being a poor black man was ghastly. Maybe I should have dressed a wee bit more up-market. The café returned to its normal hubbub and my ice-tea arrived without a smile. I sipped it noisily, showing my disgust. The wait for the BLT was excruciating, I wanted to leave. I’d had enough. I know I’d woof it down and get out of there pronto, I hated eating like that. When you retire, the pleasure of dawdling over a meal was usually relished. This instance would not be remembered as pleasurable in the least. And it was about to become worse.

A voice rang out in my ear, it was Sally. “The manager called the police. You need to get out of there.”

“Why?”

“Your driver’s license was visible when you showed him the cash.”

“Oh crap!” I keep my license under a transparent cover for ease. He must have seen the picture of Dave, white man and jumped to a hasty conclusion. He presumed I’d stolen the wallet and cash. I reached hurriedly into my pocket to fork out a couple of dollars for the iced tea and then heard a police car in the distance. My heart beat faster.

My movements were rushed and I caused quite a commotion, resulting in many eyes turned toward me. I ignored the stares and made for the exit. The waitress watched with her mouth gapped wide open, but she didn’t know what to do. The manager was not in sight. As I left the café I could see the police car only a short way up the street. I was sure they could see me. I turned the other way and walked smartly with my back to the screeching car that had now raced past the café entrance and was pulling level with me.

With my back to the police car, I thought “Change identity; young white man, newish grey coat.” I looked at the backs of my hands, they were now white. My heart was racing now and I could feel sweat building up on my forehead. I carried on walking smartly along the sidewalk, quickly realizing that a normal, innocent person would turn and investigate the speeding car. So I swung around and watched as the police car came to a speedy halt in the street. They were blocked by parked cars where I was standing. I could see the wide-eyed look of the officer in the passenger seat. He was expecting a black male and appeared extremely confused, his forehead creased into a ripple of red skin and his eyes had grown to the size of footballs. I waited on the sidewalk, but the police officer didn’t exit his vehicle, he’d turned to his colleague and was saying something. The car moved forward into an empty slot by the curb.

I waited patiently, trying to calm my pulse, wondering how they would handle the situation.

The first officer reached me. The look of amazement was still fixed firmly on his expression. “Excuse me, sir, did you just come from the café, just there?” He indicated with a nod.

“No!” I said, as steadily as possible.

I could tell he wasn’t sure how to continue. Then he said, “did you see a black man exit the café?” The officer was staring up and down the street as he spoke. There were few people around, a young woman pushing a stroller was across the road, glancing at us and an elderly couple were heading toward us from the direction of the café.

“No, officer,” I was polite.

His partner had reached his side. They moved away from me a little, but I overheard what they were saying.

“Did he look black, to you?”

“Damn right he did.”

“Strangest thing.”

“Must be the light. Let’s go talk to the manager.”

“Okay.” He turned back to me. “Thanks for your help, sir.” Then they both set off to question the manager. My heart was singing, now. I wanted to burst of laughing. “Thanks, Sally.” I thought.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.