the happy black man

Yes, it is true. I am now better than you are.

So what can I get away with now? I mean I could always attempt to get away with stuff before, but now I am supposed to do it, right? So the other day, when I was ordering a chicken burrito at Chipotle, the girl behind me in line was literally shoving me over. The line was at a stand still; I was deciding on whether or not I wanted to add guac, and because she had already decided on whether she wanted black or white beans, she felt that she could continue to push me over in line. I kept looking at her thinking that she was going to a) apologize b) laugh it off or c) be down (you know what I mean). It turns out she was d) a bitch, but you could probably make a good argument if you chose c.

Now that I can get away with shit, there is no need for me to unleash a verbal disapproval or ask the dude that was with her why his girl was all over my jock. I understood that I now have the ability to fuck up her credit because I got Barack listed in my contacts as Yes We Can. Or perhaps I will just email him a list of those whose shit we need to fuck up. We’ll consort the Master List of Oppression that we have access to now and can cross off ‘inner-city crackheads’ and replace it with ‘white bitch in line at Chipotle.’ We can also cross off ‘crack baby’ and replace it with ‘Chipotle’ because their thin ass tortillas made a mess of my burrito.

“Oh, we good, we good Ryan, we good,” you say. You’re damn right, we good, now what can I do about raising your taxes, bringing drugs into the suburbs, stealing away your jobs and oppressing you on a daily basis, because somehow, I became “the man” overnight and Yes We Can fuck up your world.

I didn’t ask for this. It wasn’t ever supposed to happen. It was always the belief that one day it would happen. That’s the point of this existence: continue to work hard but never reach that pinnacle of success. Slow down there you say. If I read the post below I will remind myself that nothing has really changed for me as an individual and this possibility was always there, but what has changed for me as an individual is that the word possible, the word possibility, has become obsolete along with the words shall, overcome, promised land. Yes, they are still important, but not in the broad sense of that “one day”. One day we shall overcome. One day we shall reach the promised land. The only important word in those phrases is “we.” We the people. And because of that we are all “the man”. So yes, I can still blame “the man” because in doing so the blame is on me and all those who failed to notice.

So don’t worry America, you can still eat your Chipotle in peace.

I received a chain email today. Shocking, I know.

It was titled “What must it feel like to carry the hopes and dreams of an entire race of people on your shoulders?” No, it wasn’t about myself. Once again, shocking. It was about the “burden” that Barack Obama has been given. However, the last time I checked, all hopes and dreams of mine were being carried on my own shoulders. If one man is to carry our hopes and dreams, what happens when this one man decides to rest his back for a few minutes, or if he trips like every man has done who assumes the role of President. Am I to wait for someone to come and pick up these so called hopes and dreams of mine? Don’t get me wrong, ol’ Bar is my ace. But he’s only my partner in this dream. He happens to be doing a better job at the moment, but I am learning from him so that I can keep my own hopes and dreams going.

Ain’t nothing like the real thing baby.

Question: Well, actually, let’s begin with a statement. I’ve never worked the drive-thru at a fast food joint. I’ve never worked in the fast food industry. That’s two statements. Now the question. Is there any empowering feeling that comes from looking down and into the cars that come around the drive-thru at let’s say a McDonald’s or an Arby’s (never been) or a Del Taco? Unless of course you are in an SUV, but those things are meant to prevent the former from happening. But, you can’t help but feel like a little kid as you dig into your wallet for 6 one dollar bills and scramble through the change you have saved in the ashtray for these occasions when you need $0.37.

Then, when it’s those drive-thrus that don’t have the little metal change cup/cylinder thing which not nearly enough of them do and you have to reach out and physically drop the change into their hands - The pending physical contact can be frightening for some. Do I get as close as possible without touching skin and drop the change in there? Yes. And what happens? Nickels and dimes all over the cement. Open the car door. Grab what I can grab. Close the car door. Forget about the change and force my cheap ass to grab another dollar bill. Yes! More change!!

One day I’ll man up enough to make a sandwich with my hands as the bread and theirs as the meat while I smother the ketchup all over their meat. (She might have said that.)

Or I can just try and master the one hand drop. Stay tuned.

But those drive-thru cashiers(?). You can see them downloading your weaknesses in the 80 seconds you spend facing off with them. Just one day I know I’m going to find my Lester Burnham catching me doing everything I’m not supposed to. “You don’t get to tell me what to do ever again.” Fuck, me!

But they can judge all they want. It’s obviously never been their dream to do what they’re doing at 1:37am on a Saturday night. But I really don’t want to be there either. Obviously I’ve packed it in for the night. I’m not rushing home to feed my girl that Junior Whopper she’s been craving all day. Well… there was that one time. This can’t be the real thing for them or me. A dream is at worst far beyond the real thing.

And the 10 freeway isn’t the only place little toy dreams can ride bitch too.