Johnny Capers, Jr, is a musician who just arrived in town. He is scheduled to play in the Grand Saloon. He is a jazz musician.
He is a self-promoter. He talks to people on the street, and gives them flyers advertising his shows. He goes into every business, to tell people about his show.
He also happens to be black. I was talking to Andrew, and Andrew tells me that Capers talked to every white woman on the street.
Andrew says that Bisbee already has its quota of blacks. Capers will stay until he makes a mistake. Then he will move to another town. [Perhaps one that is more tolerant than Bisbee.]
Last night I was taking a walk on Tombstone Canyon Blvd. A white pickup slowed to a crawl behind me.
I was several steps from Evans Road, and I stopped; I didn’t want to be in the middle of the road when someone wanted to turn up the road. At this point the car came to a complete stop. I crossed Evans Road, and the car inched along Tombstone Canyon Blvd, and turned into the Circle K.
A couple of minutes later the pickup pulled out of the Circle K, and continued to drive slowly down Tombstone Canyon Blvd.
I guess that I wasn’t the guy they were looking for.
A couple of minutes later, when I was in a dark area, another white vehicle slowed to a crawl.
And again I wasn’t the guy they were looking for.
I was glad to get home; there was some transaction going on that I wasn’t interested in.
The fun never stops at the Circle K. I have found that the night staff is quite friendly; as opposed to one of the daytime workers. She tries to get her work done quickly so she can duck outside to smoke a cigarette. If she has to ring up a purchase for you that’s 3 more minutes before she can get outside to get her fix.
I walked into the Circle K, in order to get a chocolate milk. I was the third in line. The first guy finished his purchase and left. The woman in front of me was purchasing a 40 ounce bottle of beer. Not like she really needed some more.
Apparently, the Circle K cashier hadn’t treated the first guy as satisfactorily as he should have according to the gal ahead of me. She launched into a tirade how the cashier should treat the customers. After a little of this, she looked for his badge, a piece of paraphernalia that he had neglected to put on that evening. “What’s your name?” He mumbled nervously that his name was Luis.
Then she continued her tirade; his behavior reflected on the Circle K company in general, and this Circle K in particular. Then she pulled out her big guns. Her brother was married to the daughter of Esmerelda, the woman who ran the Circle K, and worked the day shift. If he didn’t treat the customers better, she would talk to her sister-in-law.
Finally she finished her tirade, paid for her beer and left the building. I purchased my chocolate milk, and wished him a good evening. “It should be uphill from here”, was his response.