Cuba

My last delivery, congas to my daughter's friend's child!

I stop off at Whole Foods to get on line and stock up for my last 5 hours of driving. As I return to my truck, a little old chubby white man who looks like a miniature version of Santa Claus with white hair and rounded checks flushed red stars sideways at me.

I wait for him to speak, thinking his body language indicates he's gonna be on the wrong side of the fence but such a cherub face and his ancient air give me hope he'll break the stereotype.

He doesn't. He has to speak. He is so angry, telling me he just wanted to see the person who was driving this truck. I tell him he sees her.

He starts the usual rant, pointing a shaky crooked finger, at my anti-Monsanto side and I ask him with as much incredulity, almost scorn as now I've pegged him for a mega-farmer, 'you like Monsanto?'

He falters, then tries to puff his chest out as he claims of course he does. Then he tells me he thinks if I don't love this country I should leave it.

He rants a little more about my ingratitude to the great uncle sam, telling me I should go to Cuba and try living there. I brighten and try to tell him I'd love to go explore Cuba but he's on a roll, spewing his hate, telling me he hates me so much and hates me being in this country with him so badly that is going to take up a collection to send me there!

I'm thrilled. Across the parking lot, another younger (but still old) white man is stationary, watching our interaction, containing his laughter.

I ask him if he too is a pro-Monsanto farmer which he promptly denies. My Santa Claus clone calls him a traitor and tries to stomp off in a huff before I can give him my address to send my Cuba fund check to!

This second fellow asks me if he can interview me. He pulls out an i-pad, walks me over to the outdoor seating at Star Bucks, and proceeds to interview me.