Day 1:
“That’s a good job bruh. I hope you get it!” A plethora of conversations happening in what seems like such a short span of time. That was my Uber driver congratulating me for the interview with the Post Office that he is taking me to. The interview ends up being administered by an older dark complected filipino man named Rodrigo. He comes off… Dry. Stagnant. Unimpressed. I’m answering all of his questions, emphasizing my employment history with Bank of America, and my management experience with Walmart. Still my gut feeling tells me that my chances of getting this job are slim. As a black man, I always have to consider rather or not my skin color has any influence on the decision. I wonder if white dudes ever have to consider that someone will not hire them simply based on the color of their skin. I wonder what it’s like for my skin color to never be a factor.. What is it like to not even be conscious of my skin color when I walk into a room. Despite the racial undertones that follow me throughout life, I am giving my best in this interview. The real question I have to ask myself is, is it really my gut, or my dissappointment in myself casting a shadow of self-doubt?
Another Uber ride later and I’m home, with a pipe in my mouth, inhaling a sense a solice. Exhaling the anxiety that my circumstances breed. With so much to be done, I don’t have time to sit and enjoy my relaxing ritual. I put myself in the zone, throwing on my white and red Beats headphones. Before I know it, I am lost, surfing the sound waves. Music is one thing that always puts me in a better state of mind. A better state of being. A faster perception of time. Cleaning. Packing. Organizing. Reminiscing. Remembering when I drew in the sketchbook that i’m packing away. Remembering when i tried sewing as I throw away the ugliest unfinished blazer. So many memories of times when I used to be someone.
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