Profile Incorporated (standard:non fiction, 2659 words)
Author: Juggernaut	Added: Nov 13 2010	Views/Reads: 2848/1876	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
We profile everybody everyday, it just the way of life.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

few in order to make a profit. The driver would then make a “U” turn to 
the drive back to the starting point to load up with fresh passengers 
again. People who live in the countryside have no choice since there 
was no public transportation service, so they put up with this 
unscrupulous practice of dumping passengers by the private vans. 

Once, I was caught up in a similar situation, I was the only passenger
in the van, so the driver dropped me off in middle of no where and 
returned the fare I paid him initially for the full trip.  It was a 
beautiful sunset with the sun slowly going down behind the tall 
sugarcane along the roadside. The smell of sugarcane crop was sweet and 
distinct in the fresh countryside air. I was anxious for another van to 
pick me up before it became too dark. Then, at a distance I saw a man 
walking towards me slowly. He was big with “dreadlock” hairstyle 
wearing only shorts and nothing else, not even shoes.   I realized he 
was a “Rasta or Rastafarai”, a person who belongs to a local religious 
group, generally believes in non-violence and vegetarianism, though 
prone to smoke “ganja,” a local term for marijuana,  to get high. As he 
walked closer, my mind was racing with so many “what if” possibilities. 
Physically he can maul me down but then I can outrun him as I am a 
light weight, though not sure in what direction and to where, since I 
didn't see any houses nearby to take shelter or ask for help.  While, 
these thoughts were storming my brain, the man walked closer to me with 
his head down and walked pass without even glancing at me. I saw he was 
soaked wet as if he had taken a bath in a near by stream. His figure 
got smaller and smaller as he walked away from me, I realized how timid 
I was and more importantly the way I profiled him as a threat. I am 
sure if that person was a woman or a man in decent clothing or a person 
with non-threatening looks, most likely my mind would have been at rest 
rather than contemplating how to escape from the potential danger. 

Negril beach is one of the best beaches in Jamaica. A 7-mile stretch of
white sandy beach on the west coast of Jamaica is mostly popular for 
American tourists. While living in Jamaica, my wife and I visited 
Negril beach on many occasions, mostly on weekends when we stayed at 
nearby hotels.  During one of those visits, two or three American women 
in their early twenties were lying down on the sand in front of us.  A 
local Jamaican man peddling “ganja” or marijuana came by to sit next 
the American women. He started his conversation with friendly gestures, 
and then offered them free samples of marijuana. The women were adamant 
at first in not accepting the free samples. He then lit up a marijuana 
cigarette and persuaded them to smoke and inhale to get a feel. He used 
all his charm to eventually make the women sample them. With reluctance 
they bought a few marijuana cigarettes just to get rid off him, 
perhaps. Then, he promised more good stuff that can be supplied to 
their hotel room and managed to get information where they were 
staying. I am not sure whether these women had smoked marijuana 
cigarettes before, but one thing was pretty sure, the man had profiled 
them from several people laying down on the beach to make his business 
deal. He never approached us though we were a few feet away along with 
several other visiting tourists lying down not far from the American 
women. The acumen of this man to pick his prey purely based on his 
instinct and profiling abilities on whom to strike to make a deal 
really amazed us. 

My wife spent three years in Brooklyn while receiving residency medical
training at a New York hospital. During that time, I stayed back in 
Dallas, my place of employment. I visited her during long weekends but 
kept our car in Dallas. I was fearful of allowing her to drive in New 
York given the hazardous roads and drivers. My wife fed up with taking 
the subway and buses demanded I should either deliver our old car to 
her in New York or she will buy one. I decided to drive our old car 
from Dallas to New York, a distance of around 1300 miles. 

The trip was long and tiring, I overnighted in some towns on the way and
started early in the morning to beat the morning rush hour city 
traffic. In Memphis, I got caught up in morning rush hour, bumper to 
bumper traffic. I realized a cop was following me for a while and then 
he pulled into a lane next to me, looked at me, then changed back to my 
lane,  right back behind me and started flashing lights to pull me 
aside. 

“Sir, you were driving a bit above the speed limit,” he said, glancing
inside the car suspiciously. 

“I am sorry, I didn't realize officer,” I said nervously. It was the
first time I was ever stopped by a cop. 

“Where are you heading, I see you have a Texas license plate?” 

“Heading for New York,” I said nervously. 

“That's a long way, can I check your trunk,” he said in a friendly
southern voice. 

“Sure,” I said, and opened the trunk for him to inspect. 

“What's in those plastic bags?” 

“Some ‘curry' and ‘massala' powders used as spices.” 

“Do you mind if I sniff a bit of a sample,” the cop was inquisitive. 

“Please, go ahead,” I encouraged him. 

“Man, this stuff is strong,” he said, sneezing non-stop. “You mean to
say, you eat this,” he looked at me with disbelief. 

“Yeah, we cook it with vegetables you know, we don't inhale,” I said
with friendly smile.  I didn't want to make the cop angry for his 
stupidity. 

He closed the trunk and said, “I got suspicious when I saw a car with
Texas license plate early during rush hour in Tennessee,”  the cop was 
apologetic. 

I realized then, why he pulled next to me while driving; just to look at
me to get a physical profile before pulling me aside. I couldn't have 
been driving above speed limit when the traffic was moving bumper to 
bumper in the early morning rush hour. He allowed me to go without 
writing any ticket, and kind enough to give information on the oncoming 
exit I should take, etc. 

Several years later, I was waiting impatiently for a connecting flight
at Indianapolis airport.  “Do you know there are doctors from India 
working in Belize,” an old guy sitting next to me picked up a 
conversation with me in a haphazard way. 

“Where is Belize,” I asked casually. 

“Well, it is in Central America, I took a tropical rainforest expedition
trip last year, I slipped and broke my ankle there, the doctor who 
fixed my ankle at the hospital said he was from India. He was good, I 
can tell you that.” 

I didn't know why this man brought up the subject. 

“Your are a doctor, aren't you?” he asked, rubbing his face softly with
both of his palms as if he praying as Muslims do. 

“No, I am in computers, information technology,” I lied. 

“Oh yeah, I should have known this, I have seen scores of them too,
these days.” 

“ I was bit hesitant to continue to talk to this man, I thought he may
ask me questions in computer technology.” 

“Boy, your country produces, lots of doctors and engineers, then send
off to every corner of the world to seek jobs, don't they,” the old man 
yawned. 

“I was getting weary of the subject matter, I thought of getting up and
wander off.” Before I did, he got up and left walking towards the rest 
room. I took the opportunity and ran to sit between two ladies; both 
immersed in reading and showed no interest in their immediate 
surroundings. 

Once I was in my office on Saturday to complete some unfinished reports,
somebody knocked at the main door of the office building. I opened the 
door to find a man and a young woman with him. 

“Are you the janitor?” he asked. 

“No.” 

“What are you doing here on the weekend then?”  He was polite in his
enquiry. 

“Well, I work here, and came to finish some work on a quiet day like
this,” I identified who I was. 

“Oh, I know you, we have spoken several times on the telephone,” he then
introduced himself as one of the employees who worked for the same 
company but based in Canada. 

“I brought my family here on a vacation and dropped in here to see if I
bump into somebody,” he said before leaving. 

After he left, I wondered about his impolite attitude. What made him
jump to the conclusion so fast that I was a janitor, not that a 
janitor's job is inferior.  True, corporate staff does not work on 
Saturdays nor Sundays, but I was not wearing a janitor's uniform nor 
was I carrying a mop or a broom in my hand. When I answered his first 
question, he realized who I was and changed his authoritative tone. 
Actually, in our company hierarchy, he was at a lower category than I 
was. I had the feeling that this fellow from Canada quickly sized me up 
purely based on my physical attributes. Had I been wearing my regular 
corporate dress code of jacket and tie, he would never dare asked the 
question. 

My senior colleague at my place of employment  invited me on many
occasions to drop by his house on any weekend just on an informal 
basis. I never did take up that invitation seriously during the three 
or four years I worked with him, but on one Sunday I dropped by his 
house unannounced. His front door was ajar, so I called for him, and 
waited on his front porch. I heard his dog barking inside, his daughter 
came to the door to take a peek at me and ran back inside shouting 
“dad, some Mexican waiting outside, may be he wants to get a job to mow 
our lawn.” I heard my colleague trying to hush her voice. Incidentally, 
my colleague and his family came to America as refugees from a war-torn 
nation.  My colleague's daughter who never saw me before took a few 
seconds to define me and assign a possible job offer. Then I thought 
profiling is probably an inborn quality. 

My wife and I invited our new neighbors for a dinner to get acquainted.
I prepared my specialty “tandoory chicken” and “curry beef” and my wife 
prepared her specialty “massala rice.” They enjoyed the food and we had 
a good time. During the conversation, the neighbor's wife, a former 
nurse mentioned that she was borne in South African and later migrated 
to Canada, and eventually ended up in the United States as an 
immigrant. 

“We enjoyed the food and appreciated the invitation,” the man said in
very friendly manner. 

My wife and I reciprocated their friendly gestures. Just before they
left our house, 

the woman asked us “are you legal?” 

For a few seconds, we didn't understood what she meant. 

“Yeah, we are legal tender,” I made a joke to lighten up the situation. 

She smiled back and her husband appeared a little embarrassed for her
wife'senquiry. After they left our house, we were dumbfounded by her 
remarks. If we understood her correctly, I think she asked whether we 
are living in the country legally or illegally.  Obviously, she was 
curious, and perhaps thoughtless. 

We profile others constantly; it is like sizing up the competitor in a
game or sport. We use subtle profiling all the time either in selecting 
mates, making friendship at work and almost everywhere, perhaps it 
could be from fear of domination by others. Judging or profiling others 
purely based on their appearance and manners to denigrate or belittle 
others and conversely to place people on pedestal with high esteem is a 
serious downside of this incorporated human trait of profiling. 


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