OUCH! THAT CEILING’S MADE OF
CONCRETE…
From since I was a young girl in the pits of my Brooklyn neighborhood I knew that one day I would have to
go out into the world and do something. I was secretly hoping that I could tap
into my personal magic or that my super powers would manifest so I wouldn’t ever have to rely on the nine to five world of not
partying, and constantly putting up with bullspit.
I mean, you read all the magazines and hear all the talk
from the elders who must walk outside on the daily at 8:05a with a briefcase in
one hand, cap in the other. They stride with a
desperation that can be felt thru the business suits, and a stand at bus stops
malevolently eyeing the young scholars who struggle under the weight of huge
backpacks complaining to each other about how hard the school life is. These envious “groan” ups grimace looking like they just want to grab one of the young
ingrates from the crowd and yell square in the face of youthful smugness... “ENJOY THE RIDE WHILE YOU CAN- THE HARD STUFF IS JUST
ABOUT TO BEGIN!” Then the bus pulls up and the teeming
horde of angry and disillusioned adults of varying ages, sizes and accents
drudge on board while the chipper, fast-talking youth fight for their place on
the moving sardine can that was possibly made in Japan for people obviously
much smaller than the average pork and canned-food eating African in Diaspora….
Any old way, I thought I was going to go off on the evils of
that ceiling… you’ve heard of it and probably know it well. Every person of
color (especially us with dark hues and tightly-coiled hair) is so well acquainted
with this hell; it is that thing you face daily in the sacred halls of
corporate America. You know you played your cards
right. You know you went to some college
somewhere - the best you and your parental units can afford. You
know you paid your dues and have been thoroughly educated and thought you came
out well-rounded --- at least in the ways of “playing
ball”, but you writhe as your work in Big City Corporation has to be twice - and
in some cases thrice- as dynamic as the other
man/woman. Do I sound a tad resentful? Yes, I do--- indeed I do--- this
rant is personal!
Yes, I will share with you that the other man is not the
only power faction in town, the well kept secret is
that there is the other woman to
contend with as well. She, who hides masquerades
as ignored and innocent; she, who is anybody’s best friend --- constantly
pointing out inequities that malign the female gender; she, who sits in the
seat of second command, sometimes hiding behind the a demur coyness, but mostly
spouting off against workplace injustice, because she doesn’t want to ride in the
passenger seat anymore; she, who enlists your aid on the climb up to topple the
big boys. Yes, she is that one who spews rosy words to
encourage you to “Hold hands my sister, my
fellow wombman, my colored girl-friend --- you
understand struggle, you and I are both
minorities.” It feels like a manipulating of my life
to blur the dividing lines and equate our social struggles.
I know, my readers are possible thinking this writer is
going a tad crazy, are you might be asking as you read, “what exactly is she
talking about? Equating social struggles, what in
heaven does that mean?” If I confused you, I
apologize; I got this whole non-linear communication
thing happening, that is just my wavelength for some reason --- I would like to
be diplomatic here instead of bitter --- I guess.
But with this whole equating power struggles stuff I mean
that whole mesh of equality battles that pre-date the whole “Equal Employment
Opportunities” disclaimer that must be prominently featured in every place of
business. You know that whole, “We, here at Big City
Corporation, used to be a good-old boy’s network, but now we play ball with the
EEOC and have a few ‘women’ (read this to mean the hue-less type), and a few
‘people of color’ (that means hued men and women - we all get lumped into the
same category).” Generally, these tokens are employed in positions where eventually they will develop
some kind of sustained brain trauma from constantly hitting the ceiling.
Back in the days of ERA and Black Power struggles it is
rumored that the hue-less females piggybacked on the struggles of the hued in
order to gain their foothold in the business world, which was vastly populated
by the hue-less male. Today things are different. Many hue-less females are widely respected in
the business and - this is the extremely
person bit - in some cases have been called geniuses sometimes earned by
knowledge and ingenuity other times by that privilege hue-less folks in the
modern age refuse to openly acknowledge. The word “genius”
for some of us colored folks is rarely kicked around; unless it is the genius way you were able to kiss the
man’s ass till your lips hurt or the genius
way you “yes ma’amed, yes sirred”
your way down the hall while walking a step or so behind so they knew that you
knew your position; or that genius
way you managed to keep your sanity after you put in all the work that someone
else got the credit and eventually the promotion--- yes, okay, I am clearly
bitter. This has stuck to close
to home, one too many times.
So each day you trudge home
thinking about what you can do to make your existence a bit sweeter. Some mellow dudes in “Nausea” gear and chicks
in bandanas and way too tight and too, too low jeans (how do they breathe in
that?) hang on the brownstone stoop seeming to have the right idea, so you
think of saying “Hello”, blazing up and taking a drag to make that day drift
away --- but no, your will is stronger than that. You
think of suicide (okay, extreme exaggeration), because the world is just too
screwed-up for your taste, but no, in some circles you’ll go to the netherworld
for that. You think of chilling out with the hue-less
in some bar, but no, you’ll pass. Do you really want to see their drunken unwinding
yet again? So you think about your kids, if you have them, and if you don’t, you think about that Volvo you want to buy (okay, so
sometimes we all have warped values) and wonder if you can hold it together until
retirement.
