History Lesson at the Tractor Supply

If a day passed without some fashion of scumbag 
either shopping or working at the Tractor Supply, 
it's been lost beneath some inactive cerebral tissue 
with my second grade math... 

This one time a customer, a woman in 
her late-40s, asked for help when 
I happened to be near
the service desk. 
She was picking up an order.  
I got her name, clicked a few things 
on the computer, and quicker than 
a farting contest 
the items were secured 
and we headed for her truck. 

She'd been mildly flirty, 
in that way that's not seeking a 
direct response. Just a quick jolt 
for her parts, an object of meditation 
for something later. 

And in truth health 
hadn't fled 
her face, breasts, buttocks, 
and she moved with 
a limber step. 

It was as I loaded the package 
onto her truck, the sun shining down 
on the brown skin of my face, hands, forearms, 
that this stranger commented 
on the price of things, things 
in general, and I suggested 
it had something to do 
with the Stimulus. 

She corrected me without hesitation. 
Said it actually had to do with 
black billionaires, people scamming 
the system, to which I swallowed 
my intense contempt. I tried giving 
an on-the-spot history lesson, 
and was informed indentured servants 
were slaves... 

I readily surrendered. I have this gift in such cases. 
Then I closed the gate on her truck 
and bid the pathetic racist farewell. 

There was no shortage of assholes in that place, 
but that one smelled worse than most. 

****