I hope this is fair use:
(Kirby's column from the SL Tribune this morning)
I’ve never met a situation I couldn’t make worse
A couple of weeks ago in Butte, Mont., I watched an elderly couple have a
full-on public meltdown in the hallway of a motel.
We had driven 500 miles, and my wife was still asleep. I crept out of our
room and went in search of the free breakfast. That’s when I encountered the
couple.
The angry woman was accusing one of the housekeeping staff of stealing a
jewelry case they had left in the room. The young, tearful worker was trying
to explain in really poor English that they should check with the front
desk.
The language barrier only made the old woman madder and the young worker
more upset. The woman kept yelling at her to hand over the missing item and
then go back to Mexico where she belonged. Her husband adamantly agreed. He
had a Trump button on his jacket.
Being the kind of guy I am, I sensed an opportunity to make things worse. It’s
one of several serious personal shortcomings. I am an unrepentant
provocateur. Have been since birth. I can’t help it.
When someone is throwing a public fit like this, it’s impossible forme to
not step in and help them completely lose their minds. God help me, I love
it.
The maid wasn’t from Mexico. She was from El Salvador. I know because she
told me. But it was my next question that really set things off.
“¿Cuál es el problema de este bruja?” I asked. [So what’s the problem with
this witch?] The nervous smile I got from the worker detonated the old woman’s
temper. She hadn’t understood a word I said, but she now knew that I was on
the maid’s side.
Spittle flying, head bobbing, dentures clacking, she looked like a RainBird
as she screamed and accused all immigrants of being thieves and me of being
a smartass.
I still wanted some waffles. But no way was I going to pass up a chance to
wind someone up until their head exploded. It’s why I would never make a
good hostage negotiator.
To get the couple off the maid’s back, I offered to help them fi nd their
missing jewelry case. We went to the front desk and inquired.
The case was there. Another guest had turned it in when he found it in the
breakfast room on the serving line next to the scrambled eggs.
Checking the contents of a jewelry bag, the old woman satisfied herself that
nothing had been stolen. She looked at me and sneered.
Her: “I still wish they would go back to Mexico.”
Me: “And they wish they could punch you in the face.”
Her Husband: “Hey! That’s my wife.
Me: “OK, you punch her.”
The manager and some security- looking guy showed up then and told us to
calm down for the sake of the other guests. I admitted that the
misunderstanding had been my fault. Wewere all a little on edge because of
the political climate in America.
“But things will get better when Hillary is president and we all have to
learn Spanish.”
I thought they were going to need an ambulance. They grabbed the jewelry bag
and stormed out. Climbing into their Trumper-stickered truck with Iowa
plates, they peeled away cursing immigrants and interfering smartasses
alike. My wife was awake when I got back to the room.
“What’s breakfast like?”
“Not bad. There was a floor show, but you missed it.”
