Yesterday, I'm in the store with my daughter, getting some supplies ready for coding camp and music camp and all the camps. We're looking for the little travel bottles of shampoo and a shower caddy.

Old Man River is standing in the aisle with an empty cart. He smiles at me. As I try to answer a question to my daughter about something to do with hair masks or eyeliner or something, another man starts talking to me from behind. No greeting. Just straight to asking me questions.

I turn to look who is talking to me. He's only slightly younger than Old Man River. This guy looks panicked. He comes around and puts a piece of paper in front of me, but he's waving it so fast I can't read it.

"What does she mean? What is this? I can't find it on the shelves anywhere and I don't know what she's saying!"

Once he slows down enough to tell me what he's looking for, I'm not actually familiar with the product, but I mention I am pretty certain she just wants a particular brand of foaming hand soap. He seems even more confused, as if he's never heard of or seen foaming hand soap in his life. I ask him what else is on the list. Sure enough, right next to it on the list is written hand soap.

He's confused, they're clearly written as two different entries on the list. Yes, I say, she wants regular liquid hand soap for one area of the house, but she wants the foaming kind for somewhere else. That's why she organized the list with them next to each other. He's unsure. I reassure him that I can't be sure, either, but I'm pretty sure, and that's where he should start.

He leaves, just as confused about the list as when he asked, but he follows my advice and heads in that direction. For the record, I looked up the product later and I was, of course, correct.

I look over to Old Man River, still standing there, having been an audience to the whole interaction. He laughs as the other man rounds the corner on his quest. Old Man River is still smiling as he says, "They give us these lists, but we don't know how to read them. We don't know what to do with them."

I laugh. He takes it as an opportunity to start in on his life story. My daughter is busy, I decide to listen and see where this goes. He seems somewhat familiar. I think he's stopped me before, years ago, and I think I've heard his story before.

Before it went to hell

He tells me he used to live in California, that is, he lived there before it went to hell. He came back to Maine when they still wouldn't let anyone but white people in. I'm really not sure how much irony he's infusing or humor he's weaving into the bluntly racist comments he's making.

My daughter is still occupied with looking at the stuff on the shelves.

I've known so many men like Old Man River. He could have ended with the charming and helpless old man routine. But then immediately following with racism, I can't decide if I should confront what he's saying, exhausting, probably a waste of time, and possibly dangerous for a woman like me if someone else intervenes. It's always right to confront this head on. On the other hand, I really thought I would get nowhere with it other than possible exhaustion and aggression against me.

I consider just walking forward with my cart and leaving him in the dust.

I don't generally have patience for people like this. I've unfriended people on socials simply for sharing that they recently spent money on Harry Potter merch. I write anti-fascist posts on my own website hosted for this purpose. I used to have patience. Patience kept me in the closet far too long, it kept me from self-realization, it kept me from existence.

Patience can sometimes be a form of violence we're expected to inflict upon ourselves. After all, justice delayed is justice denied.

Seeing where the story goes

Something keeps me standing there listening to this man. I love hearing the stories of people much older than myself. Someday I won't get to. Even so, I've heard his story before. Maybe when I suspect he cornered me in the store years ago, maybe just because his story is essentially the same as so many other old men I've known and listened to.

Women always have the better stories. This is clearly, in part, because their stories are seldom told or heard.

Nevertheless, he mentions something about Mexicans being hard workers and not understanding why they're getting kicked out and how white people don't want to do the work, anyway, how nobody wants to work anymore.

He mentions how at least they had strong unions in California.

He mentions how he likes Trump because Biden let in all these immigrants and Trump said he would do something about it and now he's doing something about it and people are surprised.

It's like whiplash. Prepackaged sentiments, no logic stringing them together. Typical.

I'm still just mostly listening. I worry someone will confront us both, assuming I agree with him for not confronting him myself. I just listen and file it all away.

He mentions his military service, I make a note and I change some of my language and hint at a little of my background . He takes the bait and eventually asks if I was in the military. I explain in vague terms that no, I spent years working in international humanitarian deployment alongside mostly former military and have spent a long time coordinating in those types of environments. I explain some more details, but not much. That's hard work, he says. That's hard work, I repeat. He mentions I've spent more time in the field than his four years in the military that he was happy to be done with as soon as he finished out.

I have his respect. Not that I care to have it from a man like this, but it's useful. Finally, it's my turn to steer.

My daughter is getting restless at this point, ready to move to another aisle. She's patient and trying to find ways to occupy herself. I'm grateful, though still uncertain why I'm still bothering to stand here.

My opening

He makes another positive remark about Trump. There it is, my opening.

I hear ya, I say, but the thing that really bothers me about him is he's so anti-union! (He doesn't need to know how many things bother me about Trump, he needs to know the things that should already bother him about Trump.)

He nods along. He clearly hadn't thought of it this way, but he acknowledges the truth of it. People gotta work, I say, they gotta eat, and they deserve to get paid. He agrees enthusiastically.

It didn't used to be like this, he says.

All the Old Man Rivers of the world love talking about the good old days.

He mentions some bland positive sentiment again for Trump, believing I'm also a conservative, I'm sure. I make an ambiguous noise in response, and I say, but why does he keep having to attack all the gay and trans people? He should focus on things that matter. It's a waste of time and tax dollars. Let them live their lives.

Let them live their lives, he repeats. Leave them alone. The only thing I agree with, he says, is that boys shouldn't be playing girls sports and taking all the medals.

I brush it off and take yet another opening, in the familiar tone– Have you heard, though? They've done a bunch of studies and trans girls usually do worse, if anything, than other girls in sports (this is true, btw, including a study sponsored by the International Olympic Committee). I say, it especially bothers me when it's kids. Don't we teach kids that it's not about who wins or loses? It's about having fun, making friends, learning life lessons. Trans girls are girls, so let them play with the girls so they can have fun with the girls. Let them be kids!

If he had ever heard someone say this to him before, I would be shocked, but he took it in, which was probably even more surprising.

Three of my grandsons are gay, he says, and I love them to death. People should leave them alone.

He mentions Mexicans again, and I say, what are we going to do without them? Like you said, white people don't want to work anymore, right? Especially for that kind of work in the fields, making practically no money. What will we do without them? Trump needs to stop deporting them all, I say, or else none of the work will get done in this country.

That's true, he says. White people don't want to work anymore. Who else is going to do it?

This is the short version of the conversation, but at this point, my daughter is back and I gotta go. Truth be told, I couldn't stomach it anymore, anyway.

Goddess, I hope y'all can tell that I'm trying to translate concepts and ideas and use language he understands, and repeat his own sentiments back to him and and that I don't necessarily believe things in the terms or even concepts in the way I presented to him.

What that was all about

Later, in the car, she asked what that was all about. I mention that Old Man River was racist and transphobic and she asks why was I even talking to him, then?

First, that man obviously had no idea he was talking to a trans woman. But also, I grew up around guys like him. I know what people like him care about. I know their talking points. I went through the indoctrination process.

I tell her that Old Man River only ever hears Fox News, and if he didn't hear at least one person talk to him, especially in language he understands, then the only voice he will ever hear is Fox News. I don't believe it will likely make a dent, raindrops in the ocean, but you never know what will stick with people. In the moment, he was receptive.

I didn't mention this to my daughter, but in the back of my mind, all I could do while this man was talking was picture Fred Hampton, building coalitions of people who couldn't before see eye to eye. I hear him saying that we can't fight fire with fire, but with water. That we fight capitalism with socialism.

I'm not saying this guy deserved my patience. I'm not saying that any of us bears any responsibility to be patient, or to do the labor of educating, especially when conservatives are adamant about sticking to their violent agendas.

It was exhausting, and I know perfectly well that none of us bears the responsibility to light ourselves on fire to keep others warm.

They give us these lists

I'm not really sure what I'm saying at all, because I still feel sick to my stomach talking to Old Man River. I still regret all the patience I gave to bigots in my previous life. I think I just want to continue to believe that even people like Old Man River are capable of learning, of change. I want to believe that the world is capable of learning, of change, and I guess that yesterday he was just a microcosm for the hope I wanted to feel that the world can get better, even if it's going to be such hard work for all of us, with only the smallest of gains.

Justice delayed, justice denied.

Raindrops in the ocean.

And then I think of his laugh when he told me before, "They give us these lists, but we don't know how to read them. We don't know what to do with them."

no ends, only means