The Least Racist Man — Devine Fancy

Greg had finally settled on the one avocado in the basket he knew would be perfect for a personal dish of guacamole the following afternoon when he involuntarily spun around so fast his dream fruit flew out of his hand, bounced twice on the floor and smacked up against another vegetable bin… ruined. The startling sound he had heard was the unmistakable ratchet of a high-powered rifle engaging, but he barely had time to curse under his breath, let alone turn to run, before he was face to face with the business end of a military grade assault weapon. The wild-eyed character behind the gun waved it around and screamed at him, “Get the heck out of my way, jerky! I’m gunnin’ for every dark skinned rascal in this pig sty of a market!” (A few choice terms have been substituted with tamer approximations to avoid going against “Community Standards”)

Greg hesitated a nanosecond before his heart stopped pounding in punk rock time and he was able to compose himself and speak in a slow, friendly tone. “Now hold on a second, MAGA bro. How’d you like to make some good money, working for a good cause, instead of shooting up a handful of shoppers before the police come in and take you out?” Thankfully, the shooter paused and asked a few questions instead of opening fire and storming past. “Do you know me?... Do I know you?... Have I seen you somewhere before?... Did you say I could make some money?” Greg cleared his throat, put on a bigger grin and offered up some answers, “I don’t know you, personally, to the best of my recollection. You do not know me either, as far as I know, but you might have seen me on Fox News. I have only been on twice, though, I think, in the last three years. As for money; how does $50 an hour, to start, sound?” The gunman had relaxed a bit, but stiffened up when the dollar amount was given, “Doing what??!” He softened up again when Greg explained, “Helping me get Donald Trump reelected.”

While Greg filled in some details and made his pitch, an employee quietly escorted all the people in the market into a storage room and then ushered a police SWAT team she had contacted in and explained where the gunman was. By the time police were in a position where they could interact, the gunman was holding his rifle across his chest and was as calm as a mortician arranging a bouquet of flowers. When the signal was given by a surveillance team outside, six heavily armored officers ran from behind a couple of aisle caps and disgorged a volley of non-lethal bean bags on the pair who were knocked to the floor and slid about six feet before coming to rest. The gun travelled about ten yards further. The police continued to the two dazed figures and zapped each with a Taser before handcuffing them. Both were taken to police headquarters, unconscious, to be interrogated.

The gunman, who gave his name as Gene Smithers, came to about four hours before Greg and told police what had happened. He said he acted alone and took his gun to the grocery store to exact revenge because a clerk had given him incorrect change at a convenience store the day before. He said the clerk was “obviously a foreigner” and had refused to reimburse him the dollar he cheated out of him. He said he did not know the person who calmed him down at the grocery store, but thought he might have seen him before on Fox News. He said the stranger told him he knew Donald Trump personally and had shaken his hand six times. “He told me he was a member of the Proud Boys in Arizona and when he was at a rally there one time, Trump had given him the nickname Phreddy Phoenix, with ‘PH’ for the first two letters just like the city.” He said the stranger told him he worked for Trump’s reelection campaign and offered him a good job if he would put his gun down and surrender to police. “He told me he has access to Trump’s lawyers and said I wouldn’t be in jail for more than a month because I hadn’t shot anyone yet. I was just about to lay my gun on the floor and walk out.”

By the time Greg woke up, the story was all over the news and every station in town was clamoring for an interview with him. After answering a few of the police captain’s questions, Greg was told he could leave. Before walking out into a sea of reporters, though, he contacted an attorney friend and asked her if she would represent him if needed. Sandy arrived about thirty minutes later. She was completely baffled, but agreed to be his lawyer once he had explained a few things to her. The two went outside and faced a barrage of microphones and a thousand questions all asked at once. A reporter from Knox News, a local Fox News affiliate, elbowed his way to the front of the throng and handed Greg a note, which he handed to Sandy. “Knox is offering you $10,000 dollars for an exclusive interview,” she whispered in his ear. Greg shook his head and cupped his hand over her ear. “No exclusive! Tell them… Tell them I’ll give them a 15 minute interview and agree not to talk to another reporter until 8 this evening if they agree to pay me… let’s say $2,000. That would give them at least a four-hour head start if they set it up quick enough... And tell them there would be conditions… They have to agree to let me speak the lion’s share of the 15 minutes with minimal interruptions… If I raise my hand while I’m being interrupted, the interviewer has to shut up and let me finish my thought.” Within 40 minutes, a simple contract was drawn up and signed and Greg was seated behind a desk with bright lights drying the makeup on his now glamorous face.

“I’m Glenda Storm. Thanks for joining me for another segment of Knox in the Afternoon. The whole world is wondering just whom Phreddy Phoenix really is, how he was able to talk a gunman into giving up his planned mass shooting early this morning and what role Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump played in the drama. Please welcome to the show, Greg P.” A round of applause arose and continued for a few seconds. “We agreed to only use his last initial because he would like to retain some semblance of anonymity. Before the interview begins, though, we have a wild surprise for you!” A huge round of applause erupted as a screen clicked on revealing a smiling, freshly groomed and powdered Donald Trump sitting behind a desk in some other state. “Hello Phreddy! How are you doing, my friend? I remember giving you your nickname like it was yesterday! How are my Boys in Arizona these days?”

Greg looked at the screen, looked at Ms. Storm, looked back at the screen and had a drink of water before he spoke. “Sir, I have a few questions for you. Approximately when and where did this nicknaming event occur?” The image of Trump looked sideways and spoke to someone off camera on his end, “What’s he doing this for?” Greg spoke to the screen again, “You just told the audience you remember giving me a nickname like it was yesterday, sir. What do you remember about it? I’m sure the audience would love to know about when and where, roughly, this happened?” Trump looked straight ahead and scowled. “What is going on over there?” Greg looked at the studio audience for a split second then continued speaking to the screen, “I’m asking you simple questions, sir. Were we wearing clothes when this happened or were we naked? Do you remember that?” Trump shook his fist at the camera on his end and muttered, “Glenda, what is he doing this for? Did he say naked? I don’t… I mean, I don’t…” Then the connection fizzled out. Before she could compose herself, Greg spoke directly to the Knox host, “Ms. Storm, why in the world did you think that would be a good idea? He was either lying through his teeth or having the mother of all senior moments on live TV. You could have at least warned me.” The host earned her keep with, “We are having some minor technical issues, folks. We’ll be right back after a quick break.”

While the commercials ran, the producers had a frantic meeting about what to do. Someone mentioned Greg being on the mark with the dementia remark, but someone else reminded him that nothing was certain yet. Someone said Trump shouldn’t be on the air anymore without someone clearing exactly what he would say first. That got a good laugh. The group decided it would be best to let Greg follow the original planned format and let him bring up Trump’s role in the saga as his story progressed. Ms. Storm was instructed to stand up for Trump, if need be, but do it politely rather than aggressively. They figured Greg would probably turn out to be a loony crackpot and Glenda would expose him as such.

After a reintroduction, Greg explained the events of that morning. “Mr. Smithers told the police what happened from his point of view, but he left out some key elements. When he pointed the gun at me and yelled about what he wanted to do, I made a mental calculation. I thought to myself, ‘On what planet could a pathetic, white supremacist, homicidal maniac not be a Trump fan?’ The answer was, ‘Not this one.’” Ms. Storm started to say something, but Greg shot his arm up so he could finish his thought and the host let him continue. “Once I settled on that simple conclusion, I started formulating a plan to get on his good side and my high school drama class experience carried me through.” Sensing a pause, Ms. Storm asked, “Is that how you think of all Trump supporters?” Greg stifled a laugh and said, “Of course not; half the country’s citizenry would be full of holes if that were the case. If Trump has a super power, it is the ability to sell pig poop to pig farmers day after day. He has followers from every walk of life imaginable, except those that require a college education, according to the polls.” Rather than debate the point, the host said, “He does have a lot of fans, that’s for sure. So how did you get on his good side, as you say?” Greg took a deep breath and explained, “Well, my mind was firing on all cylinders and my mouth just sort of followed suit. I made up a backstory about being an Arizona Proud Boy, knowing Trump and working on his election team. The deluded fool ate it up. I’ve never been close enough to Trump to spit on him, let alone let him shake my hand, by the way. The next bit is one of the things Mr. Smithers left out of his account. I told him if he killed a few people of color now it would be a drop in the bucket, but if he helped get Trump reelected he could live to see Trump become a dictator and deal with people of color like Hitler dealt with people he didn’t like during World War II.” Ms. Storm bristled and almost spat out her words, “That’s preposterous! Trump is the least racist person you could ever hope to meet! Ask him, he’ll tell you!” Greg took a drink of water and addressed the remark, “I would put someone who suggests shooting the legs out from under protesters, because they think the lives of black people should be given the same respect as those of white people, in the top tier of the most racist people I hope I never meet. His distaste for people of color is widely known.” Ms. Storm was ready with a comeback, “You’re talking about that Black Lives Matter thing. Trump and several other people who were there said he did not say that about shooting legs.” Greg had done his homework, “That’s not accurate. Several people who were there say that is exactly what he said. When there was blowback about the remark, Trump denied he said it. The only other participants who have weighed in have said they ‘didn’t hear him’ say that, a huge difference. If a tape from that meeting were ever to materialize, and the offensive suggestion was there, they could say they must have missed that line somehow. The President of the USA was talking about how he would like to deal with a tense situation and his toadies would have us believe they were preoccupied doing Wordle on their phones or had their fingers in their ears screaming, ‘La la la…Not listening… La la la’ or something when Trump said what he said. You don’t need Sherlock Holmes to figure out what Trump actually said.” The exasperated host asked Greg to finish his story. “It was easy for me to convince Mr. Smithers Trump had a ‘Master Plan’ for people of color because he wanted to believe it. If you are a pathetic, white power, homicidal maniac, Trump is your hero. The idea of getting paid decent money and getting to see Trump in full-on dictator mode seemed perfectly reasonable to Mr. Smithers. The next thing I remember was a bunch of cops running at us.” Ms. Storm seemed genuinely curious when she asked, “Why do you keep using the term, ‘pathetic?’” Greg smiled and said, “If all you have going for you in this life is the color of your skin, that is about as pathetic as it gets.” The host half nodded then asked, “You told Mr. Smithers that Trump would use his status as a dictator to deal harshly with people of color. That would take quite a while, right? Trump has said he would only be a dictator for one day.” Greg was ready for that line. “Why don’t you and Trump get together and do some research? Find one example of a person from history who has ever ruled over a country as a dictator and then voluntarily allowed the country to become a democracy and I’ll come back on your show and admit I used faulty logic when I convinced Mr. Smithers to ditch his plan for a killing spree. I’ll offer Mr. Trunp an apology too! Thanks for the interview. It was nice meeting you. I doubt I’ll ever see you again.”

Greg and his attorney friend, Sandy left the building amid a very angry and unruly mob. Their lives were about to get a lot more complicated.