That has not been easy this particular weekend of the big winter storm when I would typically say that ice is not my friend because I’ve had a lot of orthopedic injuries and falling is not good. I now stop myself from asking for ice in my drink. Instead they’re on the rocks or rocas, especially when I’m in a restaurant full of hardworking immigrants whose first language is not English.
My building super. My UBER drivers. The people who clean and maintain my YMCA. The deliveristas who bring hot food from restaurants to my home. Many people who work in restaurants from owners to dishwashers. The people who work in the corner stores and bodegas. The workers who are painting the halls of my building and renovating a recently vacated apartment.
All around me are tons of good, hardworking immigrants, both documented and undocumented, who might get terrified if they accidentally overhear me talking and only understand the word ICE. So I’m making a real effort to try not say the word ice anymore unless I mean ICE. Thinking before speaking is my strategy.
