Rushing to the ATM, I hold the door for a woman coming out who stops to stare at me.
I smile. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t believe you hold the door for me?”
She’s a little Latino woman, probably working for some rich, entitled family…meek, humble, praising God all day for her job.
I know the type well.
They’re the ones who always light candles for you on your birthday.
I say, “We’re supposed to hold the door for each other,” knowing damn right well, it’s a rarity these days.
Just then a construction worker gruffly barks,” Will you two get outta’ my way…I’m late.”
The little Latino lady says, “That’s not nice, just say excuse me why don’t you. What is’a matter with you?”
Imagine a tire stabbed with a cleaver, because this man in his dusty blues deflated, properly put in his place.
I smiled again.
And the meek shall inherit the earth.