Some
people who read this blog think I’m an angry. That I’m some bitter guy pissed
off at the world.
In
real life I’m a nice guy. A sweetheart. Easygoing, friendly and a lot of fun to
be around. Some even say I’m too nice.
But
even though I’m kind I don’t put up with bullshit. When I see bullshit, I call
it.
If
that’s angry ranting to some, then it’s angry ranting. But it’s not reflective
of who I am in real life.
I’ve
had to deal with a lot of problems over the past three going on four years.
Losing a job, unemployment, and a declining savings. All the while I’ve been
trying to start a self-publishing venture.
I’ve
had my share of frustrations. I deal with a lot of pressures. When you are out
of work and your savings are running low, you’re against the clock to find that
next job before your money runs out. That pressure increases when you run into
dead ends or have to deal with people who waste your time by asking you to come
down to an interview for a job and then don’t even give you a chance to even
interview.
In
my mind it’s tick-tock. Tick-tock. A race against the clock I’m racing against
the clock regarding my money, my age (38 going on 39) and time itself. The
longer I stay unemployed the harder it’s going to be to find another job. In
another two years I know it’s over. No one hires men over 40 who have been out
of work for five years. Especially Black men.
So
I’m doing what I can to stay afloat. Working hard towards getting this
publishing venture going. Fighting to get sales. Fighting to keep my books in
print. Trying to get some money in the house after my unemployment ran out two
years ago.
All
of this takes money. Money I have to spend. Money that’s disappearing with each
passing day.
With
each interview I spend close to a fifty dollars getting ready. Haircuts, dry
cleaning, printing resumes, and bus fare here in New York City don’t come
cheap. All that money is lost when I don’t get the job.
It
works my nerves when I spend close to a month preparing to go to interviews
like the one for the IT Assistant position at CUNY about a year ago where the
guy just decides to change the job description on the fly. Or the CUNY office
assistant hiring pools where they bring 30 people in for just ONE or two openings.
Then tell all the Black men to leave and allow the Black women and women of
other ethnicities to stay. Your name is still on the list but you’re out the
fifty bucks you spent preparing to come halfway cross-town for a lousy $26,000
a year $9 an hour job.
On
top of the pressures of the job search I have to deal with a lot of bullshit on
these job searches. Surly receptionists. Smart-ass interviewers who want to
make fun of my clothes and the articulate way I speak. People so smug they
don’t think I’m good enough for their retail jobs. Racists who are already
looking past me, and Black women with attitudes so nasty it’s a wonder how they
keep a job in the first place.
Then
there are the family members who provide next to no support. Older people who don’t
understand how much the world has changed in the last twenty years. Hell, how
much it’s changed in the last five. People who insist that their old approaches
will work even though they’ve been proven to NOT work. People who don’t
understand that doing the same things over and over will get me nowhere but
broke.
People
who have jobs but won’t lift a finger to help you out. They can talk a lot of
shit but when you ask them to step their asses to the plate they give you an
excuse. They really don’t want to help, they just want to talk a lot of shit.
But that’s Black people.
People
who try to help but their co-workers are just assholes.
Sometimes
people don’t understand how the little things they say can make a bad situation
even worse for someone. Slick little comments that can get under your skin.
Stuff that makes you want to punch them in the face. Sometimes you just want to
tell people to just shut the fuck up but you don’t want to hurt their feelings
or escalate a situation into a bigger fight.
And
I run into that a lot dealing with Black people. They just work a nerve. They
just frustrate me to the point of making me want to lose it. They don’t’
understand how much pressure I’m under. How I’m walking on a tightrope that’s
this close to snapping.
In
addition to those pressures, I have to deal with the pressures of living in the
South Bronx. Brothers like myself spend most of their time looking over their
shoulders worrying about what’s going to go down. A look can turn into a fight.
Or a gun battle.
So
if I sound bitter in this blog, I’m dealing with a lot of shit. If any of you
had to walk a mile in my shoes and deal with the bullshit I’ve had to deal with
over the past four years you wouldn’t be smiling either.
When people are emotionally honest with their observations and feelings, we get labeled "bitter" and "a hater". Those words could not be farther from the truth. If *everyone* possessed the ability to be emotionally honest, the world wouldn't have so many fucked up people in it.
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