My washer broke, and the only ones I can find for sale here say ‘Coloreds’ or ‘Whites’ Right on the front. What’s the deal with that? I’d thought we were past this ignoble phase.
The sales boy wasn’t much help:
“You don’t have any, like ‘integrated’ machines?” I asked him, in a hushed tone.
“Sure don’t, sir, not in this aisle.” he looked pensively across the store floor at the over-and-under appliances section, where they put you only after the ‘Trainee’ badge wears out, or something. Pensive, but not from man’s inhumanity to man, I surmised.
“But I can put coloreds and whites in the same load, can’t I… if nobody’s watching?” I pressed him.
“Wouldn’t advise it.” was all he said.
“Why not?” I was determined to get to the root causes of racism here.
“They bleed.” he informed me.
“The coloureds. And they run. You’ll have a mess. But hey, it’s your life.”
All this made me think of those laws, what the hell were they called, in the South, from shortly after the Civil War until Brown vs Board of Education and the Johnson era Equal Rights Laws. Damn, what was the name? It’s like, a guy’s name, and short. Like ‘Jack Buck’ or something. Don’t tell me, It’ll come to me in the shower. In a week or so. Why do these memory gaps happen so often? First it was the bass-player from the Jefferson Airplane I couldn’t come up with, and now this ‘John Blow’ or whoever he was. I’d do lousy in a Presidential debate, is all I’m thinking. I’d be up there, all noble and statuesque, and start a sentence like “Efforts by the Republican party to deny Americans the right to vote are beginning to sound like…um…like those…you know… Damn! ‘Chopped Liver Laws’?? I give up.”
Anyway, do your part folks. Don’t buy a washer from James Krowe Ltd. Together we can make a difference.