Drinking

“You can’t give that to the Indians. Someone’s already called the cops to complain.” I was baffled. I understood the words, but the idea that you can’t buy beers for people old enough to drink never really sank in. Over the next few moments, though, I went from disbelief, through shock, rage, frustration, and finally a deeper realization that I was facing a deep institutional racism going back several hundred years. I thanked the man and left. He didn’t mean anything offensive. He was just stating a fact of life in Gallup. Navajo aren’t allowed to drink or something.

Shortly afterwards, the reservation sherrif appeared in his SUV, watching a band of Navajo rodeo riders and some crazy white man working furiously on a Miata that had probably seen better days. His sons were fascinated by the voltmeter. The voltmeter is such a simple device, really, even the digital ones that don’t have a needle dial. And yet they’re so useful. Most of the time you don’t care what the electricity does, as long as it flows, and sometimes you care how hard it has to work to flow. The battery on the Miata was generating 8.7 V. This was far too little to do anything, but the rechargable jumper box I had was still putting out around 13 V, more than enough for us to continue our work. The sherrif’s Expedition when running was generating 14.2 V, and when off the battery produced 12.2 V. The boys were turning the car on and off and taking turns measuring the voltage. 

I bought the sherriff off by giving his boys the voltmeter, and after that there was plenty of beer.