The new house has an inground pool. I read a book, and opened it successfully.
After vaccuming the bottom a couple of times, I decided my time was better spent elsewhere and I determined to buy one of those bottom crawling pool robots to do the job for me.
So, I go to the local pool store here in rural PA.
The last few times I’d been in there to buy chemicals I didn’t get the time of day, but as soon as I sidle up to the pool robots, I get attacked with customer service.
“That one’s a nice unit!” the guy says.
“What’s so special?” I ask.
The guy starts reading the box to me. I didn’t his help for that.
I look at a few different ones, but I can’t seem to get the guy to go away. Each time I start to examine a box, he jumps in and starts telling me what a nice unit it is, and then reads the box out loud.
He starts trying to qualify me by asking questions about my pool, and doesn’t seem to get the message when I keep telling him “I’m just looking.”
So, even though I came here to buy a pool robot, I decide to leave, and maybe come back when I can evaluate the different kinds in peace or with the help of a knowledgable salesperson.
At which point the guy makes an overture:
“You haven’t seen this one. It’s probably the best for the money.”
I go to look at it, and it’s in the middle of the price range, seems well-built, simple, and it’s made by the same manufacturer as my filter.
“It doesn’t have a lot of extra features, but it’s a reliable workhorse, and it does a good job. It’s what we use in our pools.”
Ok, I think. Maybe the guy does have something to offer after all. I look it over, see the two year warranty. It’s on sale. It’s just what I’m looking for.
“I think this will do,” I say.
“Great!” he says, and picks it up to carry it to check out for me. “These things are great. It’s like having your own personal black man cleaning your pool.”
I’m kind of stunned and don’t say anything. The worst is that a moment later I get annoyed. I really want this thing, but now I feel obligated to inconvenience myself and not by it, because of what the guy just said.
I think about what I’d say to you guys, or my friend the newspaper editor who’s black (although he doesn’t care about this kind of thing. He seems to think these kind of guys blow themselves up without the need of outside help.)
I say “I think I want to think about this a little bit more.”
He says “If you don’t like it, you can bring it back. Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”
So, I sigh, and say what I feel I need to say.
“Actually, I didn’t like your comment.”
“What comment?”
“The thing about the black guy in the pool.”
He gives me concerned “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just making a joke.”
“I know. No big deal. But, I don’t want to buy it now. Have a nice day.”
He actually follows me out the door, apologizing, but it really feels like he’s chasing a sale.
He keeps saying that he didn’t mean to offend me, that it just came out, adn I keep saying it’s no big deal and thanks for the help, and then I go home and look at the bugs at the bottom of the pool.
After a few moments trying to ponder my little morality play, I’m not sure what’s been accomplished.
I’m not happy. My pool is dirty. The pool guy isn’t happy. He didn’t get a sale. Where’s the gain?
Then it kind of creeps into the back of my head, and it grows and takes on strength.
It Would be nice to have my personal black guy cleaning my pool. But, it’d be even nicer to have that fat white guy doing it.
I would have said to the salesman “C’mon, you’re a little white man, why don’t YOU come and clean my pool. You could be the new top of the line BigotSweep2000!”