You Know What? I Don’t Have A Problem With Immigrants

That’s right. You know why? Today, my elderly Mexican colleague purchased a can of Mountain Dew for me. Didn’t even ask him to. As I was sitting back, enjoying my le mutañtè de dëw (I’m learning Spanish through osmosis), I thought to myself, “How did he know I would want a Mountain Dew? Was he somehow aware of the fact that I am descended from impoverished Norwegian mountain people, and that it is ingrained in the firmament of my very being to enjoy any form of sustenance that comes from a higher altitude? I find it offputting that he keeps going into the back of our work truck to use his baño jug, but what am I gonna do about that? Not everyone can cling to the taut, robust bladder they had in their 20s. He bought me a Mountain Dew. He’s alright.”