“Meaning what exactly, Eduardo?”
“Meaning we’re brown guys and you’re the white guy. To throw your white around means you’re supposed fix the situation with your palefaced amigo.”
“I’ve never heard the term ‘throw your white around,’ but I like it. Problem is, I’m not white enough to throw anything around with this guy. We’re already pissing in the portapotty, we’re already starving. Do you think this guy looks at me any different than you?”
“I guess he doesn’t. How do you like being a brown guy?”
Just then Carlos came into the truck. He looked at me and winked. “Let’s get this fucker done. I’ll start unpacking boxes. Julio, hand me your knife.” Julio put up his hands. No knife. “Eduardo, let me borrow your knife.” Eduardo shrugged. No knife. “How about that?” said Carlos. “Three Mexicans and no knife.” Everyone laughed, and the tension was broken. Carlos figured that since we’d have the Bavarian Motel for another night we’d hit Aspen later and gorge ourselves. He told me his cousin said we needed to go to the Hickory House for ribs and order the two-person, $72 “Feast” from the menu. Carlos said that if we added a bucket of Modelo’s to the rib platter, it might go a long way toward dealing with the day. I told him that sounded like an excellent plan. Carlos smiled and became the happiest man on earth as he humped the crates while his tummy was rumbling, knowing that a feast at the Hickory was going to end his day. I envied his attitude. The nice thing about hard work is that it eventually ends. When it ends, there’s a hot shower, sore muscles, and, if you’re lucky, a few cold Modelos and a pile of ribs. That’s enough for Carlos, and very often enough for me. Eduardo, on the other hand, hadn’t yet finished his personal Occupy movement. “I asked you a question,” he said. “How do you like being a brown guy?”
“I’m OK with it mostly, Eduardo. If I let it get to me, then I’d be pissed off like you. The shipper doesn’t know me, or you, and he doesn’t care to. It’s not really about us. We’re just pieces of the machine to get his art uncrated.”
“Well, it pisses me off. He’s treating us like dirt, and you can’t change it. There’s going to come a time when I’m going to get really pissed off at both of those things.”
“Your problem, Eduardo, is that you can’t stand being a mover. You think you’re cut out for better things. You’ve got a certain dignity that you’re not able to release. You’re in the wrong business. Look at Carlos, he doesn’t let this stuff bother him.”
“Carlos is an idiot. At least when I was a pimp I could keep my dignity.”
“Carlos looks brilliant to me. He takes what he’s given and smiles through it all. I wish I could be that smart. So you were a dignified pimp? Look at what you had to do with your girls. You could keep your dignity, but they couldn’t keep theirs.”
“They didn’t have any.”
“You sound just like our shipper. Do you think he’s better off being on top of the pile and you’re worse off being at the bottom? What is it you want? I think you want to be over there discussing wine cellars and treating the rest of us like dirt.”
“You’re exactly right. That should be me over there.”
“Remind me never to move you when your ship comes in, Eduardo. How about we get this job done and go eat some ribs and drink some beer?”
“That’s enough for Carlos. Maybe even for you. Not for me. You’re just playing at this shit anyway. Mr. Great White Mover with a house in Boulder, slumming with the brown guys for some kicks. That pisses me off too. I should kick your ass.”
“It’s not that much of a game humping furniture and being treated like I’m invisible. I do the same work as you, and I drive, and I do the paperwork. Ever read Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison?”
“I’m not much of a reader.”
“Too bad. You’d like it, but it would piss you off even more.”
“I don’t need that.”
“No, you don’t. Still, it can be a comfort to know you’re not the only one annoyed at the status quo.”
“I couldn’t care less who else out there is getting disrespected. I only care about me getting disrespected. You like this work. I fucking hate it.”
“Eduardo, my doing this has nothing to do with you. But you’re right, I do like it.”
“If it was all you had, you’d hate it.”
“There might be some truth to that. Let’s finish this and eat some ribs.”
“You can’t buy me off like Carlos with some fucking ribs.”
“I’m not trying to buy you off. I’m simply asking you to enjoy the ribs with me and Julio and Carlos. If you want to kick my ass afterwards, fine. It won’t change your circumstances and it won’t quell your anger.”
“Maybe afterward I won’t be so angry.”
“Do you really think that?”
“No. But I really do think I need to release all this anger at somebody.”
“I’ve got an idea. How about we fuck the shipper?”
“How?”
“Leave that to me. I’ll get him where it hurts. Right smack in the center of that bloated ego of his. I promise you it will be good.”
“That might get me through the day, but I still want to hurt somebody. I’m going to tell Consuelo that this house is famous for a murder and that it’s haunted. If she’s the kind of Latina I think she is, she’ll be gone by five. Maybe we should invite her for ribs.”
“Let’s go back to work.”
Julio and Carlos missed this little existential conversation. They were working. They had definitely not missed the scene at the kitchen island with all the food, though. They’re more used to this than I am. Brown guys in Colorado don’t get a lot of respect. On the other hand, they could have shopped yesterday for today’s lunch instead of drinking beer at the motel pool. But that would have taken foresight, which none of my guys have in abundance. For my part, I generally don’t eat at all when I’m working, so I didn’t think of their lunch. Well, I’m not their babysitter.
We attacked the crates. The eight granite pieces we wheeled in were gravestones from Chinese emperors. Mr. Big told us to be careful, since each one cost $85,000. He had eight pedestals custom built in his gallery to showcase them.
Before I dropped out of my chic northeastern liberal arts college, I took Chinese for one semester. I was there just long enough to learn some rudimentary characters. I knew that Chinese reads from right to left, and I knew the vertical orientation. I was damned sure Mr. Big didn’t know Chinese from Pig Latin, so I had the boys set up the slabs upside down. Sooner or later Mr. Big would have a cocktail party and be bragging about his pilfered gravestones to somebody who knew Chinese. He didn’t care about the movers, but he would care about being exposed as an ignorant Philistine when it was pointed out he doesn’t know up from down on his six hundred grand worth of stolen rock. It wasn’t a big victory, but down there on the moving trucks, it was enough.