The Cashier
This silvered-hair, slightly-stooped elderly man of Pakistani descent assisted in my check-out at the local pharmacy. Earlier, unnerved and uneased by my orthopedic doctor’s lack of clinical empathy, I donned on my poker face, pre-empting any superficial chit-chats. Alas, to no avail.
He spoke in labored and heavily-accented American English, eager to keep me engaged at the cash register. Following the standard customer service protocol no doubt, so I thought. Either I did not scowl hard enough, or this poor avuncular man suffered from astigmatism.
As he bagged my medications, I noticed the slight tremor and telangiectasia in his hands.
“You born here?”
It took me a long minute to comprehend what he just said.
“No.”
“I want to speak English like you. I take ESL lessons. Customers don’t understand me. They get angry.” He said all this in an apologetic tone and a hint of melancholy.
My sour mood, incited by the subpar medical visit, was misinterpreted as criticism of his morse-code-ish American English — an unanticipated collateral damage. I cursed myself in silence.
“Have a good day!”
“You, too.” I managed a-little-too-late semblance of a cordial smile.
“Always do.”
I dashed out of the pharmacy with tails between my legs and head hung down in shame.
As if on cue, cold chilly rains pelted down on me in sheets. My vision blurred. Was that the rain or the tears streaming down my cheeks? I was not certain.
Over the years, I’ve learned to capitulate to this increasingly apathetic world, achieving a state of emotional numbness. In this encounter, rude awakening made me realize I’ve been sucked into the vortex of inhumany and doom, wreaking havoc as I go just like many others.
Being able to speak English as a second language takes courage that the Mainstream America does not appreciate. Any hint of accent, more often than not, invites frowns, impatience and worse, verbal attacks. Yet, ironically, for the ‘selective’ foreign-born — the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger, accented American English is easily dismissed and branded as a distinctive trademark. Comparatively, foreign-born Americans of color will always be subject to rigorous unforgiving scrutiny.
Once home, I filled out the customer survey that came with the receipt, concluding with “To Mr. Ali: Best of luck in your ESL lessons. Welcome to USA. Wear your accent as an honor badge and be proud. Thank you for your service.”
Fully aware that this is my cop-out way of making amends; nonetheless, I felt a profound sense of mental release by gingerly venturing back into the world of empathy.
It’s good to feel and it’s good to be human again.
