It Started in the Paint Aisle

Can blue and red get along? How picking paint swatches turned into a political mess.

“Go, go, around it!” He said in a panic as I slightly swerved on the road.

“What?”

“The dead animal, I thought you would go over it.”

“Oh nah”

“I’m a kind soul that would bother me. Once, I killed a chipmunk. I tried pressing the brakes, but I couldn’t stop fast enough. I came out of my car to see; It was too late. It was crushed.”

As he retold the story, I heard his pain. I told him about my run-in with a deer the week before that luckily survived but shook both the deer and me up.

“It happens sometimes, unfortunately.”

We drove to Lowe’s. I needed a couple of flower pots, and he wanted to see paint colors. Jake and I became friends at the gym, and the week before, we had a moment or an accidental date. It was too early to say what was happening between us. I messaged him, and he said he woke up late and missed gym class. We made plans to visit the home improvement store together.

Jake found a fern in the plant section and pulled off the dead leaves, just as he had seen me do seconds before. We then piled in four pots and drainage plates and headed to the paint section. Like last week’s grocery task, he pushed the cart. He was thoughtful.

Before we got to the paint aisle, Jake started saying something I couldn’t hear clearly.

“Huh?” I replied.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those!” Jake’s voice slightly elevated as he stopped at the wall of swatches.

“I don’t follow.”

Unprompted, he continued. “Yeah, I voted for Trump.”

“Are you serious?” I questioned him, looking directly into his eyes.

He grinned and replied, “Of course!

“You voted for KAM-ALA? You voted for her!” he said mockingly.

“Wait, you did vote for him? I thought you might have but didn’t want to ask.”

He was the core demographic that made another term possible.

“Is this about abortion? Is this really about abortion?” His voice rose higher.

“You don’t agree with abortion?” I said, confused.

“Why are they having sex? They shouldn’t be having sex. If the woman doesn’t want it, give it to the man.”

“What’s the man going to do with a baby?”

“Raise it. I would.” Jake had two grown adult children and told me he didn’t want anymore. However, this was the right thing to say to strengthen his argument; it wasn’t reality.

“Women are bleeding out. It’s not just abortion. It’s basic health care. Some people can’t keep a viable pregnancy – women and girls are bleeding to death.”

“Whose fault is that? He gave it to the state. It’s up to the state.”

“Not everyone can drive or fly to another state.”

This was a man who greeted everyone with a smile. He was fit and healthy and shopped at Whole Foods. Did he know that one in every four women has had an abortion? I knew this wasn’t a discussion that would go anywhere soon. I did want to prove a point, de-escalate, and head home fast.

“That’s their problem.”

“So if there was a medical problem and the only doctor to cure it was in India. Could everyone in your family afford the passageway to India – say $3,000?

“No, not everyone. But why does it have to be India.”

“Not everyone can afford this. If they didn’t have access to protection, what makes you think they have access to money and transportation?”

We paused from our debate to discuss the various shades of light blue. I gave him my preference, and he picked two similar shades.

Before we left the paint aisle, he pivoted.

“So you think Covid was real?”

There it was—a conspiracy theory to bring the conversation back.

“Do you get your news from Facebook or Instagram?”

“No, I’m not on those. Wait. Where do you get your news – let me guess CNN!”

When he said CNN, it sounded the same way the President-elect would.

“No, I don’t get it from CNN.” I wanted to tell the truth – primarily independent news programs on YouTube – but that did not seem wise for our conversation. He would question my judgment, and I knew I just wanted to leave and drop him off as fast as possible.

“I know the truth about Covid. I know what they did. They got my Dad, and they tried to get me.”

It was odd to think just yesterday. I thought this man was attractive and had great features, and today, I wanted a million miles between us.

I hoped the conversation would change in the car, but it continued. I dropped him in front of his home. He didn’t look at ease where our conversation was ending.

“Every girl I meet, I run into this problem.”

“Maybe there’s a reason or two why women don’t want to be associated with the president-elect. He has done a lot of weird things, sexual harassment, abuse, infidelities, felonies, handling of January sixth, and more.”

“You believe everything you hear?”

“I understand why people voted for him, especially White men.”

“But aren’t there some White Indians?”

“No, Indians are Indians. We have various colors, though.”

“But some have White features, like your hair. Isn’t straight hair White?”

“Oh lord. Did you really say that? The Indian civilization is one of the oldest. I think we came first.”

“So it’s then the Indian’s problem.”

“Get out. You gotta go now!”

Jake left, and we managed to laugh, but we knew that was it.