
Tuesday
night, about 9:30, at the Speedy Market on Dale Street. At the
counter is a 20-something African American gentleman, clearly in
his cups, attempting to purchase two 20 oz cans of Steel Reserve.
Behind him in line is a short, rotund Hispanic guy carrying three 40 oz
bottles of Miller Genuine Draft. The black guy's credit card is
rejected. Shaking his head, he mumbles something about his "bitch"
spending all his money. The counterman pulls the cans of Steel
Reserve out of the bag and the would-be purchaser begins to exit the
store dejectedly. But then a twist: the Hispanic guy, whose
English language skills are clearly limited, manages to convey -- through a combination
of hand gestures and grunts -- that he'll pay for the cans of Steel
Reserve. The drunk black guy attempts to convey his thanks. "Hola," he
says. "Si, senor," he adds. Another guy in line finally prods him to
shake his benefactor's hand. He doesn't follow this advice, but does
manage at least one suitable response: "Gracias," he says. The Hispanic
guy grunts, pulls out a wad of $20 bills, and pays the whole tab.