So, there I was, draped atop an overturned grocery cart in the parking lot with my you-know-what hanging out. I had exited the store, only to run up against the unforgiving gulf between sidewalk and parking lot. My cart stopped dead; my corp continued. Thus, the sight of me, flung over the cart, diet coke spilling everywhere, was the parking lot feature of the day.
Do you think red-blooded Calgarian teens would help me? Not on your life. They sniggered and walked past, as I struggled to right myself (unsuccessfully) with a tad of dignity. No. The teens who rushed immediately to my rescue wore head scarfs. Calgarians, but not the kind we think of as native. The young man immediately helped me up and then proceeded to check every can to see if it were leaking; I lost only two. Those he threw in the trash and bagged the survivors. The young lady helped me to my car and unloaded my groceries. They were so charming and lovely. I tripped-over-chairs to thank them profusely for their kindness.
Did not hurt myself, thank heavens.
It is always upbringing that defines or separates us, never race or religion.
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