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Since my greatest mistake--being a “college dropout”--and, the struggle to overcome that feat, my professional career has been a whirlwind and boot-kick in the ass. My resume of experiences have been described such terms, as ‘random,’ ‘incomplete,’ ‘unstable,’ and ‘without direction.’ I get it; in the corporate and professional market, not just experience but achievement matters. For me, the multiple jobs and positions I've had represent skill growth, tact and development for corporate politics, and essentially, the ability for me to both take risk and create profit, in my life. Simple truth: I need to get ahead, and do it fast. Aside from the reality that people my peers are expected to be 5xtimes beyond my professional capacity with degrees and letters and salary, as proof, I simply can't suffer not being able to personally manage my lifestyle. Fuck being broke. Being black and broke: it's so redundant. The white folks love that…
Which is why I moved back to Seattle: to get out of that slow-moving and ill-mannered South! If not the politics & powers-that-be maintaining the dysfunction of poverty and classicism, it's the colored folk mentally and actively creating separatism by playing victim and accused, all-in-one. If the niggas, in the urban south, aren't at church then they're likely on the corner. This framework is prevalent in communities all across America; but, the difference with the south is, that there is an air of complacency and resistance from both sides of the economic spectrum. The poor, colored people are good with small-mindedness, drug lifestyles, and lack-of-education. The privileged whites and international community are good with gentrification, being lord and manager of the service folk, and tolerating blacks because they're good athletes, dancers, and musicians.
The north--and, particularly the Pacific Northwest--is not so crippled. Its considerably a melting-pot melting right-off the stove.
But, with so many faces comes as many nations and psyche-of-orgin. Its often, like a box of chocolate: you never know what you're going to get. One chocolate, and actually the only chocolate I got on my platter of interviews this season, after relocating, was a petite thin-mint chocolate. Really the most shitty mint in the bunch, but one could only hope that being in a different market, the mint might taste different. Nah! 😐
Initially, when I found out this petite chocolate called Stefon Mixon (sounds like an assy cocoa mix) was actually a chocolate I was intrigued. But not terribly so. Even though race matters aren't so paramount, the niggas in this area of the nation are easily bitter in their interaction with other colored people. It's as if, the thought process is “there's not enough room, in-town, for the two-of-us.” But, as a individual and an interview candidate you have to put on your better face. I noticed, that in some interview sessions with other blacks, they are either snooty and uppidy, or become a nigga stereo-type themself; but, hardly ever strictly professional. And coincidentally, this is the example that occurred with Mr. Mixon of Savannah, GA.
The establishment was awesome. Grandiose decor, creative design, and an ambiance that was eclectic and cool, like a lounge from the 1970s. I was upbeat, dressed-well, and honestly had the impression from prior emails and calls, that the Mr. Mixon and his staff were excited to meet me. My first impression meeting Stefon Mixon was a curious one. He was dressed in pale colored attire--khakis and perhaps a faded peach-colored blazer, a bowtie, and those tan dress shoes, which all the saltines here are wearing. I was, like “...great! Another black boy with self-identity issues.” He is light-toned, so I tried to give him credit that the outfit matched his complexion; but, truth-of-the-matter is, that he looked like a dusty house-nigga in worn clothes from his master’s teenage son. He attempted to play the role of associate, speaking to me informally about why I chose Thompson Seattle...my intentions for relocating (while mistakingly saying Savannah, instead of Dallas-- where I relocated. This is when I really knew he was from the south, in addition to his “hidden” southern drawl; at this point, he was probably psychologically comparing his experience to mine). After telling me more about the facility, and exclaiming how different and exclusive they are--even so far, as to show me his dress socks covered in bowling pins and balls--he went into the most bizarre frame of questioning for the interview. His best question to me of three was “what would you do--being that don't have direct experience in this position--if a staff member working for you was upset and confronted you directly about the position working, in which you weren't qualified but they in comparison have 5 years working towards?” First off, my immediate thought was this is some bitch-drama shit. Why the fuck would this house-nigga ask me this shit, simply because he and his clan revel in drama. I'm not unprofessional and I'm not a queen. Yes, this trade Stefon really tried me on some bitch-level shit. I told him I've never had experiences where colleagues are blatantly assertive and aggressive about nonsense. He convinced me to think hypothetically (which is bullshit, because I already answered). But, since he insisted, I added that I would try to diffuse the situation by handling the matter at a different time, requesting to see the associate in private, and finally help them understand that individual work efforts are surveyed differently, their experiences are just as valuable as mine. He replied with something, like “Well, that was a good answer and all. I like how you said you would remove the employee away from others. But, I've actually had this happen to me. And, a better scenario would be to just straight-up say ‘Look! I'm sorry I got the job that you wanted. But, we have to work together. So, could you just put your differences aside so we can work as a team?’ He sounded so much like Shaun T, I wanted to slap the bitch outta him, right there! Of course, though, my reaction is “What the fuck?” That’s a passive-aggressive reply, and you did nothing to address the conflict. In fact, whomever Mr. Stefon told that to, probably still hates him; shows what his dumb ass technical degree got him. That is what amazes me most is, that people with no life experience but a mouth full of bullshit are handed powerful jobs. I mean, his job isn't so powerful: he's the head of reception in a corporate-fixtured house meant for sleeping & fucking, full of uppidy crackers, serving more pompous crackers his ass and livelihood on a platter. Nearing the end, he even went so far, as to support this assertion--as he looked at his phone while showing me the door, he said “OMG, my wife just wants me to be home ALL time.” I had no further reply. What I thought was “you fuckin’ fairy. First off, you're a closeted homosexual, especially talking like a valley-girl. So, I know she not trying to fuck. Secondly, you're not fuckin’ married. The date isn't for another year, in Savannah, bitch. And thirdly, you're probably her best guy friend handling all her high-maintainence requests, who decided to propose to please your southern status quo.
I'm not bitter about Stefon being closeted. I'm not bitter about Stefon being Head House-Nigga...I mean, Director of Front Office. What I am upset with is that he created this initial air of being warm & inviting; but, when we finally meet in person, his attitude is sloppy, condescending, and very nonchalant about the seriousness of considering me for employment. I feel, like he read my energy, or as the gays say “clocked me” the moment he shook my hand; and, from that point, he had a personal agenda to discredit my character and experiences. Just one example of niggas fucking niggas, and the exploitation of candidates in the job market.
My most unforgettable job and interview experience was up against this wack bitch, Taylor Montayne. So, after waiting two weeks for a response and being flatly devastated by Stefon’s rejection at Thompson, I got one last shot to interview for Hotel Supervisor at this property by the Airport called Home2. I met the manager, Taylor. She was real bubbly and shit. A little quirky. I was feeding off her energy, and vice versa. The interview seemed to go well, but again I think the issue of my lack of experience in the role really concerned her. So, at the end of the session, she says “so, I really like you. And I think you may be a great fit, at the hotel. There are some other positions available w/ comparable pay; so, if you don't get the Supervisor position, would you be interested in these other couple of jobs.” She told me further about them, and I just said yes. I needed a fucking job, at this point. I was a month and a half into the process already, and my funds for expenses had tanked. Inevitably, and not much to my surprise, I was offered the other position, which happened to be a night job. Different, but I was willing to learn something different and allow new opportunities to present themselves. My destiny never seems much to be my own, so I go with the flow. So, about day 8 of my training, I've met everyone! Longtime guests, colleagues whom I'm forming bonds with, and the property is almost familiar to me. I'm still struggling with the training, mostly because her designated team is inadequate and I'm being tossed from computer-training to peer-training alternately and inadequately. I'm not sure if I'm suppose to learn my skill from the software training or someone telling me step-by-step what to do. It’s complete bullshit. This Bigfoot-of-a-bitch even snapped at me for her people not training properly: “well, you need to ask more questions, when their working on the computer.” She even had the nerve to demand, that I don't turn my back to the desk after she startled the shit outta me and I'm turning to see what the fuck is happening! Other associates were strongly considering quitting because of her treatment to them; another had more recently been fired and two other quit before I arrived; and, the worse of accusation against her was that she hired me because she thought I was gay. I'm laughing out loud, because this bitch really tried to read me, too. That's another issue here in the Pacific Northwest is, that there is this connotation that being gay...but, moreso queer is not only trendy but adorable. This is something I've noticed in observation and have been told outright. But, from my experiences with the past being gay was never cool. In fact, culturally, we thought it was a perversion and should be either judiciously or psychologically handled. Then, gays were their own disease. To being fashion queens...and marriage wanna-be. And now, we're just plain cool. I'm so beffucked and befuddled, I can't stand it. I simply cannot stand it. My suggestion is, that if you gotta look at me as gay don't fucking look at me. Because whatever you're looking for its probably not there. And, I believe that's what happened with Taylor Montayne. She was dooped. That tall bitch thought she was hiring another fairy to prance around and stargaze her miserable, displaced and jetlagged guests. When, in fact, she got an unbothered, laidback but supportive leader who anticipates quality behavior, training, and genuine connection. Her crew are pretty nice folks. But, what they lack is trust in their leadership. They think Taylor Montayne is a wicked bitch who is selfish in the way she manages other and undermines their contribution; they are lackluster when it comes to etiquette--stealing company product, watching & listening to unadulterated television programs, eating food at all hours, inviting friends to socialize, and even misusing the company vehicle. It's a party when the colleagues want it to be. And it all stems from that misbehaving and oh-so-foul mouth Taylor Montayne, who literally fired me, on my 8th day, before I could even get good and started! That bitch fired me!....took me quietly to a metering room, and said “since your last day of training, you have been late twice, including today. So, I'm going to go ahead and release you since its been under 90-days. If it [being late] happens once, it'll happen twice, and again and again. And, I don't want to spend the time training you, when you're just going to leave.” I was shocked to say the least. But, after that bitch said “release you,” I couldn't formulate anything to say. I mean, she didn't give an opportunity for explanation, of understanding, or even reconciliation. It was just, like “you fucked up, I don't want to hear it, this is what I think of you; and, don't forget to bring me back our fucking work shirt we loaned you.” Really fucking crazy, these employers are. That bitch is lucky I didn't come to work sipping like I had the day before; because I would have Nike Goadme bootkicked that bitch in her clitoris. You ol’ fat mean bitch! How do you fire someone before they start; not a single opportunity in sight to repeal myself. That's some shit. I truly believe it was a personality thing; the bitch just ultimately hated the type of person I was, and was sorry she misjudged me at the interview and misread my queer-meter. Sorry Taylor Montayne! All gays aren't queens bitch! Fucking fag hag!
So, those have been my woes does this holiday season, while looking for work in a foreign and obscure land. I'm learning, that where racism is not… simple prejudice takes the wheel. Somebody pray for me
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