I really have a love/hate affair with my own race (which is crazy, because I'm nowhere near light enough to pass for a white dude), but for the love of fried chicken; why can't we get it together on any level?So after moving back into the heart of the city a little less than a year ago, I decided that I wanted to work for a community organization that focused on the African American community specifically; so I knew I would make slightly less than I would by working at Burger King, but a little more than I would by kicking shit at people who didn't fill my cup with their spare change. And I found a decent organization that does work for residents on the West Side of the city, but not because this dude knows how to run a business. He's a good dude to be sure, but shadier than Suge Knight discussing his whereabouts the night Biggie got shot. First of all, on payday this guy is mysteriously missing from the office so that he doesn't have to sign checks until after the bank closes.
Like today, I am waiting on him to return to the office with a client's receipt so that I can collect money from the client and bring it back to the office for my cut of the revenue. There's about an hour left before the bank closes and I have the strangest feeling that my boss will come walking in about five minutes after that. I don't know what's important to him, but I need my damn money. Not to mention, usually if I need him to return to the office to handle important client related issues, I already know that whatever time he says he'll return, to go ahead and tack about 45 minutes on to that. He pays his staff in promises, peanuts, and free copies of a free newspaper (I dare someone to ask me how that works). One day I'm going to take all my business smarts and fancy college learning over to a very reputable corporate gig (and by one day, I mean as soon as I hear back from the other jobs I applied for last week). Old black dudes.
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