The Day I Met America

Okay:

So, it's Sunday night and I'm on my way to a gig. I would've told you, but the guy just emailed me Friday morning and I had already posted that day's blog. I'm a little nervous because I've only performed with this band [Motel] once, and I'm a little afraid I might forget the lyrics. We'll be running through the entire set for our performance at The Capital Hip Hop Soul Fest next Saturday, July 26 in Marvin Gaye Park, Washington, DC. (shameless plug!)

Getting prepared for this gig, nervous as I am, reminds me of how much I dislike getting prepared for work every morning. It's like rolling over for a prostate exam. You don't want to do it, you know it's going to be uncomfortable and possibly painful, but it's necessary.

This nervous feeling I have right now is exciting, however. I love it. Always have.

When I'm finished writing this, I'll go figure out what to wear.

That is not say that I have some aversion to work. I'm actually quite the workaholic. If I could match up a little frugality with my work ethic, I'd probably be pretty well-off by now. But one feeds the other, you know.

This guy I know who was recently let go of his job realized after sitting at home for a week or so that his former employer was withholding his last check for some reason. He made some phone calls, sent some emails. And when all else failed he went up to the building, stormed into the CEO's office while he was meeting with his directors and demanded his check.

The CEO replied, "Can you wait outside? I'm in the middle of a meeting."

He replied, "Fuck your meeting. Give me my check."

Some words were exchanged, the f-word in particular got thrown around quite a bit. In the end, he got his check and no one was harmed.

It seemed a shame that he had to go through all that to get what was rightfully his.

I've cussed-out/threatened a supervisor or two in my day. When I was working in the loading docks at the Wal-Mart in Durham my boss was a real bitch. All she did was scream and holler at us all night until the trucks were clear. Apparently she had been given the job because of her uncanny ability to control the unruly loading dock worker-types. Who were usually ex-cons and crackheads. Me being one of the few exceptions.

Anyways, one night she caught me at the wrong time and started laying into me. So I laid right back into her. I may have called her a bitch amongst other things. I'm not really sure. Then I took off my back brace, quit and stormed out of the docks.

She smiled and screamed, "Well, go the fuck home then, you bitch ass nigga!"

So, before leaving the store I stopped at the general managers office and demanded a meeting. When we were all sitting in there he started asking the basic questions. "What happened?" etc. He seemed truly concerned.

"He got mad, called me a bitch, took of his back brace and quit," said my boss.

"He quit?" asked the general manager.

"Yes sir," she said,

"Did you quit?" he asked me.

"Yes," I answered.

All of a sudden his face changed. His accommodating smile was replaced by a confused frown.

"Then what the fuck are we doing here? You, get the fuck outta my store, and you get back to work."

And just like that, the meeting was over. That was the day I met America.



Thanks for reading.


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Innocent Question: When was the day you 'met America'?