40 Acres and a Cubicle

As I mentioned in my last post, I have been relocated to the good old District of Columbia for a summer internship. I work right across from the Hill and I’m in and out of there just about every day. I’ve been here for going on two weeks and, while I love my job, something about it made me uneasy until I figured out what it was yesterday:

I haven’t spoken to or even really seen another Black guy yet.

Sure there’s the guy who sells chips and the janitor with the lazy eye, but all in all I haven’t spoken to another Black male professional while at work yet. I’ve been at meetings with 200-300 people in attendance and was still the only Black guy there. Crazy. While I’m used to generally being the only one or one of the few, at the very least I’ve been able to feel solidarity in my brief dealings with the other isolated Black guys I pass in the form of the Black Nod or whatever. In DC this is not the case. I’ve walked past exactly two Black guys in suits and they both did the absolute most to avoid eye contact or aknowledgment.  I feel like Will Smith’s character in, “I Am Legend.” Slowly going insane looking for someone I can relate to. All I get is Fred.

FRED!??!? How did you get here?

Yeah the shit sucks. And I get the sinking feeling that, just like in the movie, all of the Freds I see here are just all part of a setup on behalf of my old nemesis, The Other Black Guy. He’s a crafty one. But I’m craftier.

The Other Black Guy

I’m on to you Obama.