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Another wedding brings out the black sheep

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Justice

I left town again to attend yet another wedding. It was in Texas this time. Home of the big stuff or whatever is their claim to fame. Yes, I left town again. I looked at my calendar and it seems that I’ve only worked six days in January. Between being discouraged about the recession and being out of town so often, I’ve kept my clothes on more than I’ve taken them off this month. Other people’s weddings are keeping me busy. I’ve attended more weddings in the past year than I have in my entire life, before this matrimonial epidemic. I’ve attended weddings in three different languages and three different countries in these past few months. I’ve even caught a couple of bouquets, though I hope I don’t have to worry about having my own wedding any time soon.

This last wedding was particularly special. It was my sister’s second wedding. I was unable to attend her first wedding, so I figured I’d catch this one while my schedule was open. The next one? Who knows? What struck me about being there at her all-Spanish wedding was what a black sheep I turned out to be. Everyone spoke Spanish and all the music was in Spanish. Though I use Spanish often at work, I’ve resisted speaking Spanish with my family. They’re a bit elitist about bad grammar and poor choice of words. They make fun of Mexicans for Americanizing the Spanish language and blatantly making up words. Like I need to be the butt of their jokes.

All of my siblings moved to the U.S. from Latin America and got involved in their local Latino community. My sister’s new husband doesn’t even speak English. Her four children barely speak it. There are entire worlds of Latino culture in big cities that are just under our noses and many never notice them. I’ll wear lip liner and gold hoop earrings and drink tequila, but to be honest I’ve really shied away from the Latino scene. I’ve never felt especially respected. Of course I can’t speak for all Latino men but in my experience, they’ve been especially aggressive in trying to get into my pants. More so than any other group. When I was a waitress, the Mexican kitchen staff would tell me all kinds of obscenities while I was trying to work. As soon as they found out I spoke Spanish, there was no holding back. A cook would tell me how many times a day he would have sex with me if I was his woman. The dishwasher would chime in that he would beat that number. All these things would be yelled back and forth in the kitchen while the oblivious white managers were present. I know that sexual harassment in the work place is no laughing matter but God it was funny sometimes. I tried to be angry but they got so creative I had to laugh.

So I’m back in town now and I am going to work every day until I leave town again next weekend. It will be nonstop taco time.

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