"Uh-oh!" Jill said, and I looked up from my book. I followed her worried gaze to the parking spot outside the door. Through the glass walls, I could see a big fat black guy had gotten out of a Ford pick-up, and was ambling towards the door.
"What's the matter?" I said.
"I hope we're not getting...you know... robbed." she said, reaching for a can of pepper spray she kept under the counter.
"That's racist!" I said. "Just because the guy is...."
But I stopped mid-sentence, because he opened the door and walked in.
"How can I help you?" I said, in a fake polite cheerful voice that I had perfected after living in America for 5 months.
"Mr. Patel?" he said in a deep baritone voice.
"He is in his office." I said pointing with my thumb over my shoulder towards the tiny room Pareshbhai grandly called his "office". That's when Pareshbhai himself walked out.
"Oh, you're here. Troy, right?" he said, pulling the waist of his pants up like he always did. I had decided that whenever his birthday came along, I would buy him a new belt as a gift.
Troy nodded.
"Let's go to my office." Pareshbhai said and turned around. Troy followed suit. I was amused at the idea of this massive guy sitting in one of the tiny chairs in Pareshbhai's office. The man was well over six and a half feet, and rather overweight. I'd guess his weight to easily be in the 300-pound-plus range. I craned my neck to see if I could get a look at him trying to fit into a chair. But Pareshbhai closed the door behind him.
"It's simple statistics, Savvy." Jill said. She called me Savvy like almost everyone else in this country. I liked my actual name a lot, and hated it when Americans pronounced it to sounds like some sort of an Earth Day message "save-a-tree". So I had started introducing myself as just Savvy.
"What?" I said, puzzled by her comment.
"Crime statistics. If you see a black man, especially a black man dressed like that in a car like that, it's not racism to be scared."
"Fine." I said.
"I mean, it's just common sense. Considering how many other gas stations around us have been robbed recently." Jill said.
There had been a spate of gas station (what we call petrol pumps in India) robberies in and around our small Georgia town recently. And it had caused a bit of a furor. Our tiny town had a lower crime rate than most places. The only things cops seemed to be busy with were speeding tickets or drunk driving cases. Once in a while, yeah, there was a murder or rape or robbery. But in the past 2 weeks, 7 different gas stations had been robbed at gunpoint. All at night, which is when Jill and I had our shift at Pareshbhai's gas stations.
"Okay, but now that we know he isn't here to rob us, you can let go of that pepper spray." I said, gesturing towards Jill's hand, which was still tightly wrapped around the can. She let it go.
"I have many black friends." she said, continuing to defend herself. "I have dated black guys. And my favorite actor is also..."
"I get it, Jill. I am sorry. You are not racist. I shouldn't have said that." I said, hoping that an apology will get her to shut up so I could get back to my book.
"I mean, come on, you are not white. Have I ever been racist to you?" she said, still looking hurt.
I considered her question. No, she had never really been racist to me. Jill was actually a very sweet person. A bit dumb to be honest, and not the most interesting conversationalist to have around every day for 8 hours. But sweet. She did occasionally make off-hand comments and even jokes about the fact that I had an arranged marriage, had never dated anyone before marriage, etc. But that wasn't racist. Ignorant and culturally insensitive maybe, but not racist.
"Of course you haven't, Jill. I said I am sorry." I said, trying to muster up as much sincerity on my face as I could.
"Ok." she said, still looking cross, and got back to her tabloid, flipping over a page very carefully. That's what we did most of the nights. I read a book I had issued from the town's public library. She read, very carefully, tabloids that we sold in the gas station store. She did not want to buy any of them of course. So once she got done reading the, she would just put them back on the display shelf. Pareshbhai didn't seem to mind. It's not like people who buy tabloids scrutinize their condition with a DNA scanner to make sure no one has read them before.
"So what's new with Angelina Jolie?" I asked, hopeful that making Jill yap about her favorite celebrity would improve her mood.
"Nothing." came her laconic reply. Clearly, it would take at least an hour before Jill went back to normal. I decided to just let time heal her supposed wound and got back to my book. I had barely read a page when the "office" door opened and Pareshbhai walked out with Troy.
"Ok, come, I will introduce you to the women who work at the counter." he said walking to the counter. "This is Jill."
"Hello." Jill said, flashing a smile that was extra-nice, probably primed by my comment.
"Troy." the guy said nodding at her.
"And this is Savitri. She is also Indian like me. But not my daughter or anything." That had almost become a standard line for Pareshbhai to use whenever he introduced me to anyone from regular customers to deliverymen.
"Savvy's fine." I said. He nodded at me.
"Troy is going to be our pump attendant at the late shift." Pareshbhai announced proudly as if he had just recruited a new quarterback for his football team. "He will also be like the unofficial security man. With a big strong man like him, you ladies will be safe from any robbers."
"That's nice." I said politely, trying to hide my amusement.
"That's wonderful!" Jill said, still being extra-nice.
"Yes. Wonderful, no?" Pareshbhai said. Thirty years in this country and he had still not gotten rid of his habit of ending statements with no? "So Troy, you can start tomorrow. Be here at 9 p.m. sharp."
"Okay, Mr. Patel." Troy said, without any change of expression on his face. And then he turned around and lumbered out of the gas station. He slowly got into his pick-up truck, like an elephant sauntering into a pond, and drove away.
"This guy is going to keep us safe?" I said to Pareshbhai incredulously, "It will take him an hour to walk from the gas pumps to the counter at his speed."
"That's racist!" Jill pounced on an opportunity to get back at me.
"No, it is not. It is weight-ist maybe. And anti-fatness. But not racist." I said without even looking at her.
"Savitri dikra, don't worry." Pareshbhai said, adding the Gujarati word for daughter like he often did, "He can move when he wants to. Trust me, he comes highly recommended by people who know about this stuff."
"If you say so. And he will also be a pump attendant? This is a self-serve gas station." I said.
"Yes, if I hire him as just security guard, he will just stand around doing nothing, no? This way he has some work to keep him busy. So during day, our pumps will be self-serve. At night, full service." Pareshbhai said. "Anyway, when he comes tomorrow, tell him how to use the handheld credit card machine. With the codes and everything."
"Okay." I said.
"I will stay tonight also. Just in case. For safety." Since the robberies started, especially since a gas station got hit half a mile from his, Pareshbhai had been spending the night shift at the gas station. For "safety", he said. Funny, because he spent most of the time in his office, with his door closed, and Jill and I could often hear what were clearly snores coming through the door.
A couple of hours went by with customers trickling in. Most just filled up gas and left. Some came in to buy snacks and cigarettes. A few came to ask for the bathroom key. Like many small gas stations, our bathrooms were on the outside, and could only be opened with the keys we kept at the counter. At times, I wished Pareshbhai would just leave them unlocked. His logic was, if customers come into the store for the keys, they were likely to buy something too. And maybe he was right. Very rarely did a customer just ask for the bathroom key. They would buy something, at least a pack of gum. One such customer bought a candy bar, took the bathroom key from Jill and left. And Jill spoke up, seemingly over her anger at me.
"Have you ever dated a black guy, Savvy?" she asked.
"No, I have not." I said, eyes still on my book.
"Oh that's right. You've never been with anyone but your husband." Jill said, but without any trace of mockery. "I have dated black guys."
"Yeah you told me."
"In fact, I have a bit of a thing for them."
"Really?"
"Yeah. So...." she said, taking a pause and blushing slightly, "what do you think about Troy?"
"Troy??" I asked, surprised. "What do I think about him how?"
"You know. For a little workplace fling?" she asked.
I tried to imagine Jill and Troy, and could not help but smile. Jill as kinda short, like me, just a couple of inches over 5 feet. And she was really thin, easily under a hundred pounds. I was of an average slim built, but next to Jill, I often felt fat. Troy was well over a foot taller than her and weighed at least three times at much. Imagining the two of them together was just funny.
"Jill, the guy is huge!" I said.
"I know. That's sorta part of the attraction." she said, blushing.
"And what about Phil? I thought things were going great with Phil."
"Yeah, Phil's great. I am not talking about a relationship, Savvy. Just a fling. You know Phil's away a lot."
Phil was a truck driver Jill had been dating for almost a year. He drove it up and down the East coast and was away for most of the time. But whenever he was in town, Jill and he seemed to have a good time. He also got along well with Nick, her 8-year-old son she had given birth to out of wedlock in high school. Like many young unwed mothers, Jill, at 23, looked too young to be a mother of an 8-year old.
"What's the matter?" I said.
"I hope we're not getting...you know... robbed." she said, reaching for a can of pepper spray she kept under the counter.
"That's racist!" I said. "Just because the guy is...."
But I stopped mid-sentence, because he opened the door and walked in.
"How can I help you?" I said, in a fake polite cheerful voice that I had perfected after living in America for 5 months.
"Mr. Patel?" he said in a deep baritone voice.
"He is in his office." I said pointing with my thumb over my shoulder towards the tiny room Pareshbhai grandly called his "office". That's when Pareshbhai himself walked out.
"Oh, you're here. Troy, right?" he said, pulling the waist of his pants up like he always did. I had decided that whenever his birthday came along, I would buy him a new belt as a gift.
Troy nodded.
"Let's go to my office." Pareshbhai said and turned around. Troy followed suit. I was amused at the idea of this massive guy sitting in one of the tiny chairs in Pareshbhai's office. The man was well over six and a half feet, and rather overweight. I'd guess his weight to easily be in the 300-pound-plus range. I craned my neck to see if I could get a look at him trying to fit into a chair. But Pareshbhai closed the door behind him.
"It's simple statistics, Savvy." Jill said. She called me Savvy like almost everyone else in this country. I liked my actual name a lot, and hated it when Americans pronounced it to sounds like some sort of an Earth Day message "save-a-tree". So I had started introducing myself as just Savvy.
"What?" I said, puzzled by her comment.
"Crime statistics. If you see a black man, especially a black man dressed like that in a car like that, it's not racism to be scared."
"Fine." I said.
"I mean, it's just common sense. Considering how many other gas stations around us have been robbed recently." Jill said.
There had been a spate of gas station (what we call petrol pumps in India) robberies in and around our small Georgia town recently. And it had caused a bit of a furor. Our tiny town had a lower crime rate than most places. The only things cops seemed to be busy with were speeding tickets or drunk driving cases. Once in a while, yeah, there was a murder or rape or robbery. But in the past 2 weeks, 7 different gas stations had been robbed at gunpoint. All at night, which is when Jill and I had our shift at Pareshbhai's gas stations.
"Okay, but now that we know he isn't here to rob us, you can let go of that pepper spray." I said, gesturing towards Jill's hand, which was still tightly wrapped around the can. She let it go.
"I have many black friends." she said, continuing to defend herself. "I have dated black guys. And my favorite actor is also..."
"I get it, Jill. I am sorry. You are not racist. I shouldn't have said that." I said, hoping that an apology will get her to shut up so I could get back to my book.
"I mean, come on, you are not white. Have I ever been racist to you?" she said, still looking hurt.
I considered her question. No, she had never really been racist to me. Jill was actually a very sweet person. A bit dumb to be honest, and not the most interesting conversationalist to have around every day for 8 hours. But sweet. She did occasionally make off-hand comments and even jokes about the fact that I had an arranged marriage, had never dated anyone before marriage, etc. But that wasn't racist. Ignorant and culturally insensitive maybe, but not racist.
"Of course you haven't, Jill. I said I am sorry." I said, trying to muster up as much sincerity on my face as I could.
"Ok." she said, still looking cross, and got back to her tabloid, flipping over a page very carefully. That's what we did most of the nights. I read a book I had issued from the town's public library. She read, very carefully, tabloids that we sold in the gas station store. She did not want to buy any of them of course. So once she got done reading the, she would just put them back on the display shelf. Pareshbhai didn't seem to mind. It's not like people who buy tabloids scrutinize their condition with a DNA scanner to make sure no one has read them before.
"So what's new with Angelina Jolie?" I asked, hopeful that making Jill yap about her favorite celebrity would improve her mood.
"Nothing." came her laconic reply. Clearly, it would take at least an hour before Jill went back to normal. I decided to just let time heal her supposed wound and got back to my book. I had barely read a page when the "office" door opened and Pareshbhai walked out with Troy.
"Ok, come, I will introduce you to the women who work at the counter." he said walking to the counter. "This is Jill."
"Hello." Jill said, flashing a smile that was extra-nice, probably primed by my comment.
"Troy." the guy said nodding at her.
"And this is Savitri. She is also Indian like me. But not my daughter or anything." That had almost become a standard line for Pareshbhai to use whenever he introduced me to anyone from regular customers to deliverymen.
"Savvy's fine." I said. He nodded at me.
"Troy is going to be our pump attendant at the late shift." Pareshbhai announced proudly as if he had just recruited a new quarterback for his football team. "He will also be like the unofficial security man. With a big strong man like him, you ladies will be safe from any robbers."
"That's nice." I said politely, trying to hide my amusement.
"That's wonderful!" Jill said, still being extra-nice.
"Yes. Wonderful, no?" Pareshbhai said. Thirty years in this country and he had still not gotten rid of his habit of ending statements with no? "So Troy, you can start tomorrow. Be here at 9 p.m. sharp."
"Okay, Mr. Patel." Troy said, without any change of expression on his face. And then he turned around and lumbered out of the gas station. He slowly got into his pick-up truck, like an elephant sauntering into a pond, and drove away.
"This guy is going to keep us safe?" I said to Pareshbhai incredulously, "It will take him an hour to walk from the gas pumps to the counter at his speed."
"That's racist!" Jill pounced on an opportunity to get back at me.
"No, it is not. It is weight-ist maybe. And anti-fatness. But not racist." I said without even looking at her.
"Savitri dikra, don't worry." Pareshbhai said, adding the Gujarati word for daughter like he often did, "He can move when he wants to. Trust me, he comes highly recommended by people who know about this stuff."
"If you say so. And he will also be a pump attendant? This is a self-serve gas station." I said.
"Yes, if I hire him as just security guard, he will just stand around doing nothing, no? This way he has some work to keep him busy. So during day, our pumps will be self-serve. At night, full service." Pareshbhai said. "Anyway, when he comes tomorrow, tell him how to use the handheld credit card machine. With the codes and everything."
"Okay." I said.
"I will stay tonight also. Just in case. For safety." Since the robberies started, especially since a gas station got hit half a mile from his, Pareshbhai had been spending the night shift at the gas station. For "safety", he said. Funny, because he spent most of the time in his office, with his door closed, and Jill and I could often hear what were clearly snores coming through the door.
A couple of hours went by with customers trickling in. Most just filled up gas and left. Some came in to buy snacks and cigarettes. A few came to ask for the bathroom key. Like many small gas stations, our bathrooms were on the outside, and could only be opened with the keys we kept at the counter. At times, I wished Pareshbhai would just leave them unlocked. His logic was, if customers come into the store for the keys, they were likely to buy something too. And maybe he was right. Very rarely did a customer just ask for the bathroom key. They would buy something, at least a pack of gum. One such customer bought a candy bar, took the bathroom key from Jill and left. And Jill spoke up, seemingly over her anger at me.
"Have you ever dated a black guy, Savvy?" she asked.
"No, I have not." I said, eyes still on my book.
"Oh that's right. You've never been with anyone but your husband." Jill said, but without any trace of mockery. "I have dated black guys."
"Yeah you told me."
"In fact, I have a bit of a thing for them."
"Really?"
"Yeah. So...." she said, taking a pause and blushing slightly, "what do you think about Troy?"
"Troy??" I asked, surprised. "What do I think about him how?"
"You know. For a little workplace fling?" she asked.
I tried to imagine Jill and Troy, and could not help but smile. Jill as kinda short, like me, just a couple of inches over 5 feet. And she was really thin, easily under a hundred pounds. I was of an average slim built, but next to Jill, I often felt fat. Troy was well over a foot taller than her and weighed at least three times at much. Imagining the two of them together was just funny.
"Jill, the guy is huge!" I said.
"I know. That's sorta part of the attraction." she said, blushing.
"And what about Phil? I thought things were going great with Phil."
"Yeah, Phil's great. I am not talking about a relationship, Savvy. Just a fling. You know Phil's away a lot."
Phil was a truck driver Jill had been dating for almost a year. He drove it up and down the East coast and was away for most of the time. But whenever he was in town, Jill and he seemed to have a good time. He also got along well with Nick, her 8-year-old son she had given birth to out of wedlock in high school. Like many young unwed mothers, Jill, at 23, looked too young to be a mother of an 8-year old.