The balmy weather and my antsy legs propelled me outside after I got home from a busy day of helping people make copies at Kinko’s. Needing laundry detergent in preparation for Monday’s laundry, I decided to take my walk in a productive direction to Family Dollar. I had driven by the store several times and thought I could walk the nine blocks in a decent amount of time.
University was filled with the closing activities of the day, the street crammed with cars commuting home from work or out for a night on the town. The gentlemen who sell rugs from the back of their large white “moving” truck in the auto parts parking lot were rolling up their merchandise and stowing it away on the shelves lining the inside of the truck.
An elderly woman climbed down from a brightly illuminated bus, clutching her purse and shopping bag. A teenage boy ambled by a sagging house in need of paint and new windows to replace the plywood coverings.
Family Dollar sat back from the street; its parking lot providing a buffer zone from the speeding traffic. I walked into the store behind two Hispanic teens who picked a bag of Cheetos from the rack sitting right next to the door. Easter candy, curtains, children’s cloths were crammed onto the shelves and scattered around the store helter-skelter. I looped around the side of the store and wandered my way back to the laundry detergent.
As I was comparing the unit prices of the four different sizes of Extra laundry detergent a voice began making announcements in Spanish. Feeling slightly guilty for not having kept up with my Spanish, I tried to pick out a few words, understanding “gracias” and “Family Dollar.” After a half-minute lag, the announcement began once again in English.
“All your activities in this location are being monitored for your safety. Thank you for shopping at Family Dollar.”
The announcement repeated several times in the ten minutes I was in the store always beginning in Spanish and ending in English. As I glanced around at my fellow shoppers, I noted that the majority were Hispanic. What a contrast from my stop by Hy-Vee after work, in which I was not a minority, all the announcements for dinner specials were in English, and everything was stocked and displayed in a tidy manner.
As I walked West down University back to my apartment, I felt as if I were walking through a different community entirely, although 801 Grand, which is the tallest building in Iowa, illuminated against the darkening sky, reminded me that was still in Des Moines.
How many Des Moinesians understand that this community exists in their city? Of what benefit is it to me to live in this part of my city? How should it impact my view of my community and world?
Friday, March 6, 2009
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