Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Chris Rock has been hitting the TV interview circuit plugging his movie GOOD HAIR.

He noticed that his daughters were spending much time and money on their hair. He begin to look at the hair business more and found black women are the biggest market of hair products. Black women, head-count percentage wise, make up about 20% of the hair market, but spending-wise, they make up about 70% percent of the market.

Chris found that many are buying human hair wigs. The best selling human hair is long black hair, found typically in Indian and Asian countries. They are willing to pay thousands of dollars for a good mane of hair.

In India many churches, temples, or what other religious institutions they have in India have been pushing for the female part of the congregation to do what is right and donate their hair to the church, who, in turn sell it to whomever is willing to pay the highest price. It appears the church staff benefits materially for these females charitable generosity. But the families that donated their daughters' hair remain poor.

Chris was appalled that black women would go to so much trouble to look like white women.

I agree! Chris Rock said, in so many words, “Be yourself! Do your hair so you will like it! If you feel good about yourself everything else will work itself out.”

On the other hand, I heard somebody else say if you see an opportunity seize it!

I am emotional moved by that advice. I would like to help the poor Asians and Indians in some way will live on and keep giving.

I know! I think I will give them free haircuts!

Brandi & Randy

What a day!

This morning after Willow and I walked I came home, loaded the truck of stuff we no longer need or want and donated it to a thrift store.

I came home from that, took a shower and left again to the nursing home to visit my high school friend Jerry. Jerry had two strokes about eleven years ago. I had some pictures of the Bell Reunion that he was in that I thought he would like. I sat on the edge of his bed and had we had a nice visit. He is a very appreciative person. His cute life-long friend Donna had been by before this day and also brought him some pictures. I was in one of Donna's pictures.

It is a shame to be only a few blocks from Brandi’s World Famous Hotdogs and not go there. In fact, it is probably a sin. I arrived just a few minutes before noon. It was stuffed with people sitting and standing.

In due time Brandi asked me what I wanted and I told her. She wrote it down but I did not actually see her hand the order to the lady preparing the food. I don’t know how that lady does it. She sees all and knows all.

While I was standing there a lady about my age, or a couple years older, asked me how long Brandi’s has been there. I gave her a brief history of the Marble Mill BBQ owned by the Ravan family, and it became Betty’s World Famous Hotdogs, and Betty retired and sold it to Brandi. And I told the lady you couldn’t beat Brandi's spicy chili.

The lady said she owned a vacant building in Smyrna and wanted to talk to Brandi about maybe opening a second store. I told her that Brandi already had a 2nd store in Cartersville, but maybe she’ll expand to a 3rd store.

All the time Brandi was standing near us on the other side of the counter, and glancing at us from time to time. I think she was keeping up with our conversation.

Brandi asked me had I ordered chili slaw dog and fries and I said yes. She was sacking it all and I caught what I said .. I ordered onion rings not fries… she handed me the sack and I handed her a $20 bill. She gave me change, and bills and as I threw the change into the tip bucket I said, “You did put the onions rings in the sack?” I just wanted to make sure.

Brandi said, “No, I put fries in.” A lady behind me holding a baby said that sounded like her order.

Brandi always appears relaxed and in control. She laughed at the mix-up. She gave me the $20 bill back and took the bills out of my hand and then gave the sack to the lady holding the baby and took money from her.

The change she gave me on the previous transaction, I dropped in the tip jar. I wonder how that would be straightened out?

I felt sorry for the lady with the baby and a sack of food so I held the door opened for her to leave.

Then Brandi had my sack with the onion rings. She told me price which was 10¢ more than I previously paid her. I told her I liked the other price better. She laughed.

Again, I gave her the same $20 bill and she gave me change and bills back and I again dropped the change into the tip jar.

They got tipped twice, on the same order….. but whose pocket did the first tip come out of? It is mind boggling.

When I was backing up out my parking place I noticed in my rearview mirror that the lady with the baby was backing up also – straight towards me. We were meant to cross each other up. I immediately jumped all the way back into the parking spot.

I drove home, gobbled down my chili—slaw dog and onions rings and dressed up and drove to Powder Springs, Georgia, to a funeral home.

Randy, a postal carrier had died. Randy worked at the Sprayberry Post Office, the same as I, for a bunch of years.

Then he transferred to the Kennesaw Post Office and delivered my mother-in-law’s mail for, I think he said 18 years. Sometimes when I was there I would try to be near the mailbox when he drove up and we talked.

Then he quit coming. It was months since I had seen Randy. I asked a female carrier delivering the mail where was Randy. She said he fell and broke some bones and while undergoing treatment for that they found a bunch of other things wrong with him. Now, he was trying to get a disability.

Then yesterday I got the mail out of my mother-in-law mail box and there was a handwritten note saying Randy had died over the weekend. I got on-line, found his obituary. He was cremated and his memorial service would be today.

Sometimes you can know somebody from a work standpoint and when you see people from his home life it is completely different from what you perceived his life would probably be.

Randy worked very hard to go by the regulations of how the mail should be handled, as far as things like the letters on top and the magazines on bottom when delivered… and bulk rate mail would be after the magazines, etc…Randy wanted it right. He seemed to fret over his mail more than most other carriers. He was a perfectionist.

He was slim, had natural curly hair, and big glasses…. He would probably look completely unnatural without his glasses.

When I arrived at the funeral home I went as the sign directed me. There was a little parlor with a monitor showing with a digital picture sideshow of Randy in progress. I was about 20 minutes early, and I didn’t know a thing about Randy’s personal life, so I thought I would sit down and relax and watch the slide show and educate myself on Randy.

It showed Randy as a little boy on a little Shetland pony, and several other typical pictures of a kid growing up. The rest of the many pictures were with him with his daughter, sitting talking with her, sitting in the water with her, sitting here, and sitting there. Then, I thought, “I bet the daughter had an early illness and she is crippled.”

There were a little alcove of a room that I signed the guest book, picked up a program, and walked into the chapel.

It was ten minutes until the services began and only three or four people (including me) were there.

A few more people drifted in.

A young lady in a motorized wheelchair wheeled in. Although she could operate it, she was leaning way back and one armed seemed to be drawn up. His daughter! I thought.

Somebody bent over her and said her name and how sorry that he was. I looked at the program. Yep, the program said survived by a daughter with the same name.

Wait! The other named that said Randy was survived by was a partner named Ron.

I am not critical of this arrangement; I would have never thought it that is all. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Just as the time of the service was to start people suddenly lined up outside the door signing the guest book. The line went out the door. As they came in and took their seats they mostly sat in the section reserved for the family. They were family and I doubt if they are known for being early for events and things.

It was a two man show. The preacher preached and the funeral home person put on CD songs, appropriately for the event; for instance the first song was BLOWING IN THE WIND; we are just sand bowing in the wind.

The bad thing playing about using this CD was that it was a concert CD which had applause with people whistling - which took something from the quiet dignity of a memorial service.

After the last prayer and during the last CD song a lady stepped up on the little rise, and sat in the chair next to the preacher behind the podium.

As the music drew to a close the preacher left his seat, stepped down off the rise in front of the podium. The lady stayed there.

Then the funeral director raised his arms and said, “All Rise!” And everybody shuffled to their feet.

Suddenly the lady sitting behind the podium stood up spoke her booming voice into a mike saying she would like to say a few words.

The funeral director lowed his hands down and I think he said, “Be seated” Which everybody did.

The lady, by things she said, I figured was Randy’s ex-wife. She more or less put the people sitting in the family section in their place. She told them that Randy loved them as well as his new friends and if they had a problem with that, they need to learn to live with it.

Then she mentioned his sisters and how they treated him. And she talked more in her booming voice.

The family members were squirming and crying and handing each other tissues to cry with.

The preacher looked helpless.

After that the partner, the best dressed man there, carried the urn out through the just-opened doors. In funeral precession-order the family followed, row by row.

When the family emptied out we (non family) went out aisle by aisle also.. because I was sitting alone on the last pew I was the last to leave.

There was a crowd of people and a lot of loud talking. I don’t know what the conversation was about.

Why stand around there with some people I didn’t know? I went back through the funeral home and went out another door.

An elderly couple fell in behind me. Since they were not with the bunch outside the door I figured they were not family.

“Are either one of you a postal worker?” I asked.

The lady said she works at the Kennesaw Post Office. I asked if she knew a friend that used to work there and she said yes.

She said to tell her “Dolly said ‘Hi’!

Tax & Expense for Mostly the Poor

a Tax and an Expense of Choice

What income level do you think smokes the most and what income level do you think plays the lottery the most?

I am pretty sure it is the poor.

The proposed hike on taxes on tobacco will be a tax tab the poor will say, “I got it!”

And what income level is most likely to attend college in Georgia and most likely take advantage of the Hope Scholarship?

I am pretty sure it is the upper middle class. The elite rich kids don’t want to be bothered taking the time to apply for the Hope Scholarship.

The Hope Scholarships are paid for by lottery funds.

Again, when the upper middle class kids go off to college it is the poor that picks up the tab.

Is this fair? Because smoking and playing the lottery are vices of choice, it seems fair to me.

Important Announcement

Did you miss me today? Huh?

Well, here I am - too late, and a dollar short.

Our on-line ability has been down most of the day. I danced around with two strangely accented people, one man and one woman, with All-American names for over 3 hours, maybe closer to 4.

Anyway, I am back up, sometime after 4pm - too late for a post - well, it probably isn't too late, I am just tires.

A help desk technician by the name of Jenny got my lines back doing what they should do. I really appreciate that.

Coupons

In the other day’s page of Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader Page-a-Day Calendar said that only 6% of coupons are redeemed.

That means that 94% are not redeemed.

However, what if 100% of the coupons are redeemed – what would happen? Nothing, they would just honor it. No problem, companies allow for that and charge enough to make up for 100% of the coupon redemption rate.

They know from the past that 94% will not use their coupons – so what they allowed becomes pure uncut profit.

Which reminds me of the Far Eastern Indians. This may appear to be profiling. Well, I guess it is, but I prefer to think of it as, “If the shoe fits….”. I have noticed that most Eastern Indians that run a cash register hate coupons.

I think coupons goes against what they have been taught about bartering. To them, maybe a person using a coupon is trying to get something for a less than fair price. I think they might think only greedy people use coupons…. So?

One time I dropped by a yogurt store to buy two orders of yogurt to-go. A nice young looking Indian man was the owner. He was by himself that night I think. It was an off winter-night, so why pay a teenager girl to sit around, with not many customers – if any, and talk on her cell phone?

I came in and I suppose I look polite enough to let him vent with me. He was fussing about coupons. He was raving about how there are so many people always wanting something for nothing and using coupons (he said ‘coupons’ in a hateful sort of way).. and he went on and on. I noticed around his eyes the flesh was darker than the rest of his face – he sort of like a rabid mask man.

Finally, he finished ranting and asked me what could he get for me. I told him two white-chocolate small cups, and I had a coupon to buy one and get one free.

I think his Long Ranger’s mask suddenly got darker. His smile froze into a strained teeth exposed stretched jaw.

Johnny and Good Roadside BBQ

Yesterday while gallivanting we stopped by a roadside BBQ trailer to get lunch to carry home.

Johnny is black man that is probably in his 50s or 60s. He is a big hearty looking guy. On the window of his ordering counter is a laminated review newspaper article. He operates out of a white trailer that has a big sign on top that says BBQ. His trailer is on a state highway, near a lot of industrial supply companies and strip shopping centers.

Outside his trailer he has a trailer-wagon that is big home made smoker made of black iron. While waiting yesterday I looked closer at the smoker. It has metals bars of some type – sort of a homemade-custom made grill. One side was damaged and is bent. I guess the trick is to keep the meat from that side – it may slide into the hickory logs roasting – putting out a delicious aroma for all the people riding by to get a whiff of.

We have tried his BBQ sandwiches Ribs, fries, Brunswick Stew, cole slaw and Brunswick stew, and macaroni & cheese. It is all to die for – or at least put up a good struggle – well, maybe just a heated argument. That is all but the macaroni & cheese – you can have my share.

I think he is a very good cooker of pork – I am not too sure about his administrative abilities.

Each time I have ordered and he assemblies my order I hear banging and bumping in that trailer – like he is clumsy, otherwise, he works magic.

It seems each time the price he comes up with is flexible and not the same as the last time. I noticed that. I think he does some price adjusting with his sides. Whatever side he has cooked too much of is what I think he says comes with the meal for that day. Yesterday it was barbecue beans.

One we ordered a “flat” or ribs, whatever a flat is that came with two sides for $25. We ate on it for days.

Although his food looks and smells delicious – I hope you like it, it stays with you for over a day… each time I eat his food – I have a slight indigestion smoked bbq flavor in my mouth for a while.

I think Johnny might give the customer the once-over before he tells him what side comes with it today for what price.

I also noticed when I order Johnny talks white to me. It is straight order of business, no slang, no knee slapping, no carry on.

Before I have been standing there when blacks have ordered and he talks black lingo with them – one black dude in a trimmed suit one time who seemed very proper and businesslike – when ordering he and Johnny because hooting and slang slinging brothers.

Yesterday, after he waited on me and was banging around in his trailer a man drove up and parked in the handicapped place – by the way, the trailer is parked in the front parking lot of a supply company. It was ok for the man to park in the handicapped place, because he had a handicapped license plate.

When he got out, he sure didn’t look handicapped. He looked like a little chubby Irishman.

He asked Johnny what kind of pork was his sandwiches, sliced or pulled. Johnny said “pulled”.

The little guy said that is what he wanted to know and turned around to leave. Johnny sounded very Irishman when he asked the guy what was wrong with pulled barbecue pork.

“Nothing I reckon, I just want to see what I am eating.”

As I walked away with my sack of food I could hear them fussing – not the words but the heat in the words. Finally, the little man got the last word. Loudly he said, “That is right! Each person to his own!”. As he walked to his van.

And Again, Maybe Not!

I am back, for what ever good that is. I doubt if me being back will cause any ocean tides to shift or anything – but here I am anyway.

I’m here with sore joints, muscles, and bones from lifting things and toting them.

We are not through. Putting everything back will take days. Rocky is coming this morning to help us. Adam has to work this weekend 12 hour days.

Of course the first things that went back into place were the two computers. When I dismounted them I labeled each wire to where it would go back. At the time I was labeling what I wrote down made sense but looking at it later, late last night, some of my notes on the labels made no sense at all. But somehow, I finally got almost everything hooked up, except my speakers. I didn’t even leave label a good hint on that one.

And instead of jumping in my computer and making a blog postings I jumped right in trying to hook another important item – the TV with all its bells and whistles. I did the same clever system of labeling all connections that was plugged in the TV, VCR, DVD, TiVo, and Comcast cable box – and again, at the time I was labeling what I put down made sense – and sometimes even illustrated the hole – but later, when I was tired, some of it made no sense. I will look get back onto that this morning.

Speaking of labeling, Anna was saying she was going to put stickums on some of the rolling furniture that would say “rollers may off” and on one roll-desktop “bad leg” and I asked could she write that in Spanish too. I was right. Four Mexicans came to do the job.

None of the Latinos could speak English… so, there were some lack of communications – but not too bad, which some of that I credit my excellent pantomime talents. I don’t know if I got my message across but I did make them laugh.

They were hard workers. They worked without any type of break (even bathroom break) for over six hours. And they were very courteous and polite, almost Uncle Tom like.

The youngest one, probably about 22 or 23, did not start off that way. At first he was non-smiling but he finally changed his attitude towards me. I have walls in my office with framed MAD comicbook covers and other illustrations – mostly signed by the cartoonists. The young man was completely awed by these frame pictures.

The carpet looks nice. Willow didn’t bark at all. Which is good – or is it bad? Four strange men walking around doing things to the house? I thought her job as the official sentry would bark out a “Halt”! until she could check out their work orders or something.

Customah!!!

I have to pick up a suit from the cleaners today. We are going to a wedding Saturday.

The cleaners we do business with is ran by a greedy nervous Caucasian man that I am sure is the owner also. He has about 6 or 7 Asians working for him and I don’t think any of them can speak English. You always see them in the background folding, pressing, and whatever else they do. They remind me of a crew of bees in a hive fanning and caring for the lavas.

There are two women that can speak broken English. One looks matronly and probably in her late 40s, the other one looks to be a teenager, and somehow has similar traits of the other one – I wondered if the oldest is the mother of the teenager. When the bossman is unavailable either two will do what he normally does… take in clothes to be clean and of course deliver clothes when someone comes to pickup an order.

All the rest of them I think cannot speak but one word of English. That one word is “Customer”. Several times I have walked into the store and the first Asian to see will holler out “Customah!” and the bossman will instantly appear from the back – or one of the two females I described will gracefully come up to the counter.

I think with most of them not speaking English is the way he prefers it. They can’t communicate to fuss about being underpaid and overworked – and maybe even crowded living conditions.

The owner/bossman is a tall fellow. He has a very nervous look about him… he might be a nervous wreck trying to overlook all the business operations, the cash register, and extended lunch breaks.

The other day while carrying my suit to the cleaners I noticed a van with a back door opened with a young guy putting bundles (clothes probably) into it. The van had a “for sale” sign on it. Standing beside him, with a smile on her face, was the matronly Asian lady talking to him.

I immediately decided the young Caucasian fellow was the owner’s son. He was tall like his father – just not as age-thick. When I walked inside after the “Customah!” alarm went off the bossman emerged from doing something in the back - rolling in his money or whatever and he noticed the matronly Asian talking to his son. He didn’t look too happy about their socializing. He kept glancing at them while keying in my order on his new computer system. I wondered if he was wondering if she wanted to know about the van for sale – or was it something else they were talking about?

The nerve of them! Time is money!

Cakes, Cookies, Donuts - Si!

WARNING: This may appear that I am profiling. Well, I guess it is. We are always interested in other cultures and we developed our profiling from what we see or read.

A Disclaimer: I don’t think I am any better than anyone in the Latino community. And I admire their work ethics and I do believe their large numbers, and being frugal by nature, is holding down inflation. My only gripe is that I wish more of them would pay in the system to help pay for the benefits they enjoy and buy auto insurance.

Yesterday we were near downtown Marietta. Across from The Big Chicken is a La Suprema Bakery. I think it is a chain owned and operated by Latinos. And apparently, its target customers are the Latinos of the community.

Since it opened we have been curious about what kind of bakery goods the local Spanish people were attracted to, so partly out of nosiness and partly to quench a sweet tooth we went in.

It probably had 50 feet of counter space, shaped like a big horseshoe with squared corners. It was manned by one Spanish speaking woman… or I guess it was womanned by her.

We noticed some beautiful tiered wedding cakes; big fancy colorful cakes. On one cake instead of the normal little figurines of a wedding couple was a figurine of hot flashing Latin dancer with something bright red on, the way her clothes appeared to have just bounced in the air, it looked like she was solo in a flamingo dance – what was that, the groom's cake?

By the looks of the cakes, it looks like they really party down at a wedding.

One item behind the counter looked interesting. It was a sheet of little blocks of something. We asked the lady how it tastes and she tried telling us but there was a language barrier – she just hauled off and gave us a big block so we could taste for ourselves.

While we were there a black lady, very modish dressed, came in and went through their pictures of cakes, apparently she was planning a big bash. Then a Mexican family came in, which maybe there were maybe 5 or 6 of them. The father just sat down in a chair and watched his wife, his mother or mother-in-law, and maybe a sister scatter about getting things. On one wall was different types of baked bread. That is what they mostly got, but I think they picked up a few sweets too.

When they got their shopping done he came up and paid. I guess in the family he handled the money. Then they all piled into a nice looking van and left.

After they left I noticed where he was standing by the counter paying was a credit card looking card on the floor. I picked it up and looked at it. It had a picture of the man who was just standing there. It was a debit card. I called the lady over, interrupting her from going through the picture-of-cakes books, and gave her the debit card. She smiled and graciously said, “Thank you suh!”

We bought some little cookies that looked to be the sweetest thing they had. We soon discovered they were kind of dull tasting… not much of a good sugar rush at all. They were kind of like Lorna Dune cookies. I thought Latinos liked food with a bite – you bite it and it bites you back … like good spicy Mexican food should.

Si! Who Is On First!

We went to about as an authentic Mexican Restaurant that there is last night. Most of the combination dinners are numbered, so you order by the number to avoid confusion between the Mexican waiter/waitress and you.

Anna and I both agreed we wanted number 21 and we also wanted to tell them we preferred soft tacos.

The waiter came to take our order. Anna ordered number 21 and said her husband wanted number 21 too, and we both wanted soft shell tacos.

The waiter said something to make us think he interpreted what she said was that she wanted number 21, and I wanted two number 21’s, and in addition we wanted soft shell tacos. I think the word “too” threw him off… and she soft tacos didn’t help either.

No, no, we both said – she wants number 21, and I want number 21. And make them soft shell tacos.

He somehow dug a deeper hole and got it wrong again when he repeated it back. Then I did a visual demonstration – pointing to her and pointing to me, and said with soft tacos.

He nodded his head and walked way with our order. I was interested to see what kind of surprise was in for us. Delightfully, the ordered came as we requested.

Dalton High School New Student Body

Dalton, Georgia, is located about 20 miles below Chattanooga and the Tennessee line. Almost every hill in the area witnessed skirmishes and fights in the Civil War. About twelve miles west the infamous Chickamauga site, which was the 2nd bloodiest Civil War battle fought. Dalton downtown has the only full size statue of Confederate General Joseph Johnston.

It is the self proclaimed “Carpet Capital of the World”.

Being the carpet capital of world the big carpet companies imported cheap illegal labor from south of the border. Low labor costs = bigger profits.

I know a person living in the area that applied for a job at a carpet mill and found one of the qualifications is that one must be affluent in the Spanish language. That is a cleverly worded qualification that excludes almost all but one ethnic group.

I check on-line the daily newspaper in Dalton. I go straight to the obituaries because I have a lot of kin that live in the rural areas surrounding Dalton. Occasionally, before I am able to click onto the obituaries a headline might grab me and I click on it and glance over it. The other day, one did just that:

The headline said, DALTON HIGH SCHOOL NOW OVER 65% HISPANIC.

Wow. That is a majority. This morning I was thinking of the social upheaval that must have happened.

I bet, up until this point, Dalton High School was much like any other medium size southern town high school that the rich and beautiful ruled. They were the elite. Usually they were also the jocks and the cheerleaders. They picked on or ignored the nerds and everyone else they considered socially inferior to them.

I wonder if times have changed. Does Jose’ and his friends who parents are carpet mill laborers and field workers walk proudly down the halls while the jocks and cheerleader-types walk looking down at their feet?

I see a boom of private schools in Dalton’s future.

Cashiers and Spilling Water

It is raining now, and supposed to lighten up this afternoon. So, after giving it some thought we decided to go to a mall this morning and look for even more clothes for our trip and after that head on to North Georgia.

We have to make our decisions based on the Rain God and have we sacrificed anybody to Him lately.

Yesterday we went to at Kohl's a young lady with a baby that I thought was Mexican got into a long conversation with the male cashier, who I also thought was Mexican, they spoke in a foreign language.

I think I must have looked too nosy into their conversation and they felt the need to enlighten me. The young lady explained they were from Jordan and they were going over the label on the shirt, that she pointed out was made in Jordan and the quality number on it.

OK - as long as you Far Easterns an't discussing a suicide bombing or a terrorist attach of something, as long as you were discussing a shirt label.

Also, apparently the cashier was gay. He had a flouncy way about him. I bet he was a popular sort in his homeland. I doubt if he will ever returned home I thought.

At least he had both hands, which might be the sign of a honest man over there.

Then we went to Walmart which employs it fair share of rednecks.

At the cash register there my wife and the cashier were having a disagreement about a coupon, and the cashier there to relieve her was standing there holding her cash tray tried carrying on small talk with me and told me she has a bank in her yard that is too steep to use a lawnmower on so she and her husband bought a weedeater - actually, it was the brand name Weedeater, but it was a blower. She told me the box said Weedeater, but only had a long tube to blow through. She said her husband tried cutting the weeds on the bank with it and just blew air. She shrugged, like saying in body language, "Go figure".

We had an enjoyable evening at the Thai Restaurant. The food was good and I on purpose picked spicy food, some kind of yellow curry, chicken. It wasn't as spicy as I was wishing for - like I wanted my sinuses to loosen up and my eyes to water. But it was good anyway.

We talked a long time after the table was cleared. In fact, I thought longer than we should, there were customers with no place to sat waiting. During this time, one gesture with my hand and arm making a point on something and I knocked my glass of water over, which luckily enough the water landed on my place on the table and into my lap. That was a little embarrassing.... but suddenly some very kind quick acting Asian women materialized and got it all cleaned up, except they didn't try to clean it off my lap. Oh well.

This is not Profiling

This may look like I am profiling, but really it is not profiling.
Not long ago I met Anna for lunch near her work at a Chinese Restaurant. We were ones of the first ones there. While we were there it filled up with people, mostly of people who appeared to be Mexican. They were mostly, it seemed, manual workers, some had red dirt caked on their pants and t-shirts.
I thought that I have been to Chinese restaurants before that have had plenty of Mexicans in it, so that is not unusual. But, have I ever been to a Mexican restaurant with Chinese as customers? Not that I recall. Nor, do I recall ever seeing a Chinese man with dirt-caked clothes, from working with molding the earth kind of occupation.
I don't know what should be learned from that observance, if any.