story #12

(Not following the prompt)
Stereotypes

She was the kind of girl loved to laugh. All jokes were fair game for her except those about race. That was the one thing she had little humor for because there were so many stereotypes, most of which were unwarranted. Sure Amy had grown up in a rather sheltered neighborhood where all she and all her neighbors and friends lived in suburbia, but she was always interested in the topic of diversity. She also was a strong disbeliever of stereotypes, that people are unfairly judged upfront and not given the opportunity to prove themselves contrary to the negative typecast.
Going away to college would be good for her, she and her parents agreed. If diversity was what she yearned for, it would be worthwhile for her to explore what interests her. She enrolled in a four year university in the Los Angeles area, where the distribution of ethnicities was much less one sided than her high school. At school she met many people from all over the world. She befriended classmates and floor-mates from out of state and even out of the country. She met people who came from similar neighborhoods like her own, to people who witnessed their friends get shot in a street fight. She met a girl who had not been able to return home to Haiti for years because of the dangerous people trafficking that was happening in the country. Amy spent every waking minute that she wasn’t doing her homework talking to friends until the wee hours of the morning.
One night Amy and her two best friends, John and Greg, went out to get a midnight snack as all college students do if they have access to a car. They drove out a ways to their favorite 24-hour fast food place that they always went to when the other food places were closed. It was farther than most places they went to and in a shadier part of town, but it was always open and hunger doesn’t have a regard for business hours. Tonight, though, it was still early only about midnight but she was craving one of those greasy beef burritos and the guys went along with her suggestion. It was unusually chilly that night so the friends decided to head through the drive through instead of getting out of the car. They waited in line while an old Audi placed its order then they eased forward to the glowing sign of deliciousness.
“How’s this?” John asked Greg as he rolled the driver’s window of his Mustang down two inches, “No one can shoot us from here.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Amy says rolling her eyes, getting a little irritated at the undeserved remark.
Before Greg could back John up, the voice from within the glowing sign asked for their order and John had to roll the window down more for the three of them to order. “Your total is $16.84. Thank you,” was the last thing they heard before John rolled his window up again.
“Brr, it’s so cold. I thought Southern California is supposed to be warm year round,” John said as he drove forward to wait behind Audi who was paying for its food at the window in front.
“It’s not that bad,” Greg commented and fiddled with his friend’s radio system. He switched the station to one that was playing some popular new song.
“Does this sound like Chris Brown to you?” John asked when the chorus started playing.
Greg pulled his hand back from the dial and leaned back in his chair, “Kinda, I guess.”
“I miss his voice. It’s so smooth and sexy,” Amy said as she leaned forward from the back seat to get into the conversation.
“You would like him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what that means.”
“Oh shut up, Greg. Don’t be jealous.”
John just shook his head and laughed at his friends.
“You’re the jealous one, I bet you wish you were Rihanna. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Greg retorted. The conversation continued on in a similar manner.
Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw someone approach the driver’s side of the car in a black zip-up hoodie. “You think he’s gonna ask for money?” she asked.
Before the boys could turn to look the man in the black zip-up hoodie and his two accomplices pounded on their car windows. Confused, Amy looked at the man on the left. The man in black stood on John’s side. All she could see was his pale neck and his fast moving chapped lips saying something to the window. Looking to the right, she saw a pair of baggy jeans held up by a belt with a white wife beater exposing muscular arms with an obscure tattoo on his left pale shoulder and another pair of dark jeans with a dark gray hoodie with a gold banded ring on his right hand banging on the window. Time slowed down. She heard the handles of the doors lift and snap back down from the outside, her eyes wide and mouth open, not fully grasping what was happening. The men outside continued to hit the windows with their fists and pry at the doors but Greg had hit the lock switch on the inside of the car so the efforts outside were in vain. John threw the car in reverse and sped out backwards out of the drive-through. As their car was reversing, the men stepped back, mouthing some unfriendly words and moved on to the Audi still waiting at the window. She saw the man with the chapped lips grab at the door behind the driver’s door and open it while the other two banged on the car windows. Amy’s eyes widened and as their Mustang peeled out towards the street to take them back home. Craning her neck, she barely saw the Audi peel out of the drive through as they had done leaving the three men empty handed.
Breathing hard, Amy tried to mind her head around what had just happened. The three of them drove in silence.
Minutes passed. “Should I call the police?” Amy asked.
Both boys nodded, staring straight ahead. No one said more than they had to, each deep in their own contemplations. With a shaky hand, she dialed 9-1-1.
“911, what is your emergency?” a woman with a bored, blasé voice asked.
“I’d like to report a…” She didn’t know what to say. What should she say or not say? Amy didn’t finish her sentence and instead handed the phone to Greg in the front.
She heard Greg explain what had just happened and flinched at the line where he described the three Hispanic men. She cringed at the connotations the description had and wondered if the police officer on the line heard a lot of these reports daily or if she believed in stereotypes.