In a Blink of an eye By Christine Swiderski
Racial profiling seems to be missed used. I wonder sometimes how those who are working to protect us, determine a risk. Profiling is used so often in hard to solve cases. Narrowing down who could have done it and why. Putting anything in order helps us get a perspective. Whether it’s a problem with children or on a higher level, national security. If we were straight with each other we would admit profiling has more pluses than minuses.
I tend to be dramatically kindhearted. At least that’s what my friends say. Friends will sit me down and solemnly try to get me to change. Explaining to me how I need to be more aloof. It’s maddening because I cannot get them to understand, I cannot change who I am. No more than an ossified politician change. I and they are hardened to the core of our demeanor’s.
I feel things intensely. Rarely do I give a cool shrug to those things which are unjust, in need of rescue. A person in need is as important as an animal in need. I do not differentiate between the two.
Until one day my life changed forever. While I was doing my weekly shopping I encountered a man sitting on a curb. He was filthy, smelly, thin and crying. I sat down next to him and handed him a water and a sandwich. He drank the water and scarfed down the sandwich.
I figured he was down on his luck. He turned to me and asked: “Got any more sandwiches?”
I said: “No but if you are still hungry I will take you across the street and buy you a meal.”
He laughed and said: “The way I look they won’t let me in there.”
I explained to him a friend of mine owns the place, we can go through the back door and sit at a table near the emergency exit. He nodded and followed me across the street. My friend saw us coming I could see she was already rolling her eyes.
Sitting at the table far away from regular customers the man ordered steak and eggs, coffee, and piece of apple pie. I ordered a tuna on rye. As we ate I tried to engage him in conversation. He was too busy shoveling the food into his mouth. I was curious as to why he would not tell me his name. Nor anything about himself. I figured he had a right to his privacy.
My girlfriend and her husband own the restaurant. Shelly came over to ask if there was anything else we needed. The man said: “Yes, money, empty your register.”
Neither of us could wrap our heads around what he said. It was so out of place it left us both speechless. Ron, Shelly’s husband over heard the remark. He backed into the kitchen, slowly emerged just as the man pulled a gun and placed it to Shelly’s head. Ron fired one shot. I sat at the table with brain matter on me and on my tuna on rye.
From now on, I will pass by someone sitting on the curb. I will only rescue dogs.