The invisible beings

On Highway 5 South, I was returning from San Jose. I stopped at a rest stop, which has now become a habit, I can't and shouldn't miss a rest stop. This rest stop is in an area between Lebec and Gorman in California. The elevation was marked as 4,000 feet. 

A familiar scene, and yet not very noticeable, caught my attention. The sight of two men in safety vests scrubbing the stubborn stickers off from the traffic signposts and poles. I went close and said hi. They looked at me with a wondering face and replied, "Hello, sir. How is it going?" "very fine, thank you," I responded. "Can I help?" asked the taller man. "No, I'm just curious about what you are doing," I said.

Marked by annoyance, the man with the scrubber looked tired but determined to get rid of the stickers. I offered water. "Not cold though, they are in the trunk of my car." "Thanks, man!" the taller replied. Where are you from? Facing this question has by far been the hardest question I have asked. The country that I come from has become astigmatic, and I have always tried to escape this dilemma. I have an answer ready instantaneously. Depends on the situation and the audience though. "From Hawaii," or sometimes, I say “I am from Mongolia.” This latter one is the most comfortable and attractive claim I ever made. “Oh wow, no shit, let’s take a selfie,” is a common reaction and so I feel relieved from another seemingly innocuous interrogation. And so, this indulgence with multitudes of identities goes on and thanks to my east asian phenotype and the neutral English accent I picked up that belongs to nowhere but everywhere.

Back to the conversation. They told me they were Caltrain employees. One of them said, he worked for 32 years with the company. Then, as our conversation carried on, they both paused their work as if they have never had a chance of being asked about their dull and tedious diurnal tasks.They told me about the good things about their work after I lent them a sympathetic ear. “It’s great, you, we happen to meet people like you,” the short man with Spanish accent told me. 

For about half an hour there, I barely saw people stopping by or paying attention to these two men in orange vests and let alone saying hello and asking them how they were doing. They were invisible.