It was an innocent question. One day, just out and about on the town, I decided to buy something for lunch at one of Montréal’s trendy international food shoppes; one of those places where you can find gourmet potato chips, smoothies with every kind of herbal additive for every kind of weakness and at least four hundred types of rice, at least by my count. Not wanting anything too fancy, I asked for a vegetarian Jamaican patty, which is cheating (they should only be made with meat). And while waiting for the snack to be nuked, the man behind the counter decided to make some small talk, asking the following question:
“Are you from Saudi Arabia?”
At first, I thought that he had asked about my place of origin within Canada; my poor French giving away the whole show. I talked for a few moments about being an Ontario-born Golden Horseshoer, studying at McGill University for a Master’s degree in English Literature. When I had the much-warmer patty in a paper bag, he repeated his query:
“Are you from Saudi Arabia?”
I couldn’t pretend to not have heard him the second time (the microwave was still; the store almost barren), and I did not want to do so. I will admit that I felt quite flattered by his inaccurate guess, and wondered what would make him ask me such a question; me in particular, I mean. He was Algerian – I will not use his real name here – in his thirties, perhaps, so I gave him the benefit of my own doubts about his ability to spot a Saudi Arabian. There was also a temptation to go along with his first impressions of me, but that would have lead to more complications and explanations than I could keep pace with, especially if I wanted to be a regular customer for those patties. He learned that my family emigrated from the Caribbean before I was born, becoming Hamiltonians who now work in the nursing and steel industries. A visible gleam of embarrassment crossed his face during my story and he apologized. His confession - that my goatee had fooled him – intrigued me and made me wonder about my relationship with this hairy companion.
Hi Kendall,
ReplyDeleteThis is a funny anecdote. However, in a multi-cultural city like Montreal chances of someone getting your ethnicity right are slim. Is it so hard to just ask, "Where are you from?" instead of saying "You're from..." or speak to you in the language they think you're from. I must admit, at first, I found it amusing now, I just find it plain annoying and disrespectful. Am I the only one who feels this way?
No, I understand. I get this all the time.
ReplyDeleteHa ha...Kendall, he wanted to speak to you in Arabic, that is why he asked if you were from Saudi Arabia! Poor thing, he was just curious!
ReplyDeleteBut I have to agree with Claudia as well.. This curiosity and the wrong questions being asked are indeed plain disrespectful to me as well...
I guess that I have had to deal with situation so often that I am forced to see the humour in it!
ReplyDelete