TBX- In the Hood

*fittedwearer's note: I don't really do the whole racial thing...besides the fact that one layer of skin deep, all humans are pretty much the same, it's a genre of jokes that can get hacky and unfunny in a real hurry...just look at "The Cleveland Show" most weeks. However, yesterday during weekly Q and A session "Formsprung" I was asked what it was like to be black and I thought it was one of the funniest questions I've ever gotten (and that's really saying something) until I thought about it...maybe the black experience is something people are legitimately curious about. So, in place of a more traditional history month series (well, as traditional as a series of black history posts entitled "Baaaaad Mafuckas" can be) this is a new series I'm gonna test called TBX, short for...well, give it a guess, you're smart people. First up, the Hood...

You trudge through the snow on the way to your nondescript employment (somewhere between a McJob and middle management) almost breaking your neck on the ice multiple times and being more concerned about somebody seeing you fall than the resulting injury. Soon you hit MLK Boulevard...that's the downtown of most hoods, it's the shopping district/black center city. Its early, so there aren't too many people out yet...but some people are also on their way places. Some glare at you for no reason. You become concerned that there is hosility towards you, but your new black instincts tell you it's nothing personal, they're just upset they live in the hood. Wouldn't you be if you had to live here past today? A few hoodrats dot the landscape, starting their strange and pointless promenade up and down the street doing nothing of benefit to them or anybody else. You, howvever, have a mission and a purpose...to get to the train stop and take your black ass to work.

Every 15 feet, somebody attempts to put something in/on your hand. The body oil man grabs your wrist so he can give you a sample of his wares, but you block his hand and snatch away just before he douses your hand in a fragrance designed to mimic popular colognes with 3x the strength. Those black instincts are really kicking in nicely. A man in an odd garb bellows religion to ears deafened to his message (mostly because he's fucking annoying...it's not his words that are the problem, it's his volume and persistence) and hands out tracts. You take one and read the cover: "This could be the last thing you ever read...so do it or go to Hell!" You decide you would rather take the latter option than shove one more of those things in your pocket and toss it in a nearby trashcan, in and around which are hundreds of the same pamphlet. You shake your head and keep it moving.

You notice that the main street is plowed, but only from other hood residents driving over it so much...4 black grooves in the gray snow show the trail blazed both ways by determined drivers. MLK Boulevard is a mecca of depreciating items and low-quality consumerism. As you stroll down the street, you look at some of the storefronts. There's a McDonalds, 3 check cashing places, 2 liquor stores, a laundromat, a Crown Fried Chicken, a Cricket/Metro PCS store, 3 corner stores, a Foot Locker, a FootAction, a Champs Sports several independent clothing and sneaker stores, and a few people setting up tables where you can buy any manner of factory variant apparel you would ever want (if you ever want a Guccy/Louie Vittan purse or Jordans that Mike has no idea ever existed, those are your guys). You pass by the 4th store with a Newport sign in the window and suddenly get an urge for menthol cigarettes.

You check your pockets and realize you only have a couple of dollars. Time to hit the ATM...but maybe you should save yourself a couple dollars and use your bank's ATM, right? Your black instincts chastise you for your foolishness...there are no banks in the hood, only check cashing places/pawn shops with ATMs that charge 3 bucks. (The people that plan and zone cities are no fools...certain things are certain ways for a reason.) You sigh, pick one of the 5 such establishments on the block, and enter. Immediately you notice all the questionable financial advice plastered on the walls. "Cash your check here and we'll only take 10%!", "Out of cash? Get a payday loan! Interest rates start at a low weekly 50%!", "Can't wait for a refund? Get a W-2 loan today for only a third of the refund amount!" It's the first of whatever month it is, so you marvel as you watch the long line at the window grow with people eager to be fleeced. You'll ponder why these places are designed to make long-poor people poorer longer some other time...you just need to visit the ATM. You make your $23 withdrawal (can't forget that fee!) and walk back out.

After leaving the check cashing place, you go across the street to the Big Corner Store. In there, you can buy anything from loosies (which your black instincts tell you is one 50 cent cigarette) to lingerie. You came for a whole pack, since buying them 1 at a time at 50 cents woud cost $10 as opposed to the $6-7 they cost...and since you took out a $20, you decide to walk around and pick up a couple extra things. As you browse the store, you get the distinct feeling of being watched...you look around and notice a nonblack worker at the store adjusting a nearby display while looking at you out the corner of their eye. It's a bit suspicious, you've never been watched carefully in a store before...but they're probably just doing their job. It's nothing. You grab a snack from the shelf and move on.

You pass the kids section and notice all the toys are guns and handcuffs. You wonder for a second why, with all the kids that will grow up to wear handcuffs against their will (mostly deserving it, but not deserving it more times than people should be comfortable with), one would want children to simulate the experience amongst themselves, but are startled by the same worker sweeping a section of floor that didn't need sweeping and looking at you out the corner of his eye...your black instincts tell you something's up, but you move on to the cooler section in the back. You look inside and select a beverage, which should slide down and reveal an identical beverage behind it...but instead an upright mirror slides down. Your black instincts don't like this at all...you look around for the source of the setup when you see the same worker some distance away still sweeping, but peering intently into the mirror in front of you, watching your every move.

You wonder why all these black ops are necessary, then you take a look in the mirror and see your black self for the first time. Instantly, your black instincts fill in the blanks...he thinks you're going to steal something just because you're touching items and wearing brown skin at the same time. (Yes, they should have told you that about 5 minutes ago, but your black instincts are new and not as fast as they should be.) How unjust, how discriminatory...how commonplace. It happens every day, you just had no idea because you weren't black until today.

You consider getting pissed and hurling a can of Chunky Soup at his face, but then remember that's exactly what he wants so he can go home and tell his family about the crazy black person he saw today and they can all have a good laugh about those incorrigible Negroes. (It's a real concern for us, I experienced scenarios like that personally a couple of times...and posted about it, of course.) You remember that being a minority means that you represent your whole people at all times to other folk, calmly walk to the register, pay for your items, make a point to smile and say "have a nice day" while thinking "fuck yourself hard" and leave for the train to work....your black experience is just beginning, and you can't be late... (Well, a little...you do run on CPT now, but not too late...lol...)

Part II: On the Job- coming next Friday!