Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Letters from the Darker Populace (#5 Postracial America has arrived!)

Dear Mr. President,

We had our company cookout, which is a result of the higher ups trying to create a friendlier work environment. Their efforts have resulted in a daily emailed newsletter, suggestion boxes placed everywhere and constant encouragement to buy raffle tickets. Do I sound unappreciative? Quite the contrary. We could’ve used this committee last year, when we had the cookout and ran out of food, or the year before, when we had so many layoffs that nobody showed up to what was then the company picnic.We could’ve especially used it in the heyday of ‘06, when the execs were so busy popping bottles that no one arranged for a designated driver for the receptionist or our 40-year-old intern who can’t get work anywhere else.

Anyway, we got an email that lunch would be ready at 12:30, so we piled out there at 12:15, with paper plates and empty hamburger buns in hand. I stood beside my road dog “Tracy,” a member of the Paler Populace and we exchanged workplace woes. I told her about how the company continues to discriminate against me. Yes, we now have a vending machine that supplies Sprite, thanks to my previous requests. Yet whenever I go over to said machine, it eats my money and I have to fill out a form to get a refund. I don’t need to remind you, Mr. President, how necessary Sprite is for the members of the Darker Populace. You know how the bubbles in the drink help sustain our melanin, how the lemon lime flavor gives our hair that necessary snap. I’ve seen your pimp walk. I know about your prowess on the basketball court. Think you could do that without Sprite? Think again.

I could understand if this happens on occasion, but no. Every time I go to the vending machine, I have to endure The Great Sprite Fight. Once I lose, I have to submit my refund form to the receptionist who becomes chattier and chattier. Thanks to this defective machine, I know all about the drunken night of passion she had with the intern, how they continue to hook up and how she hasn’t announced her latest pregnancy because she fears that her husband isn’t the father.

So it was with great pleasure that I went to this cookout, which was a tirade of tacky Hawaiian shirts and hefty thighs squished in hot pants. But none of that mattered, because I could have free Sprite with my meal. I noshed, I drank, I even laughed a little. When I was finished, I tossed my plate and returned to work.

And that’s when it happened, Mr. President. I was at my desk, when Tracy approached and handed me two cans of Sprite. The person behind her did the same, as well as the next person and the next person. Thanks to the Paler Populace, I stuffed 24 cans of free Sprite into my bottom drawer. I was so happy I could’ve wept. It was almost like that last scene in Beautiful Mind when the mathematics faculty left pens on John Nash’s (played by Russell Crowe) desk to signify respect. Well, I felt just like John Nash, minus the schizophrenia, genius, imaginary friends and shock therapy. So I’m writing to thank you, Mr. President. Because of your tireless efforts, I’m finally getting a tiny piece of postracial America. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s something waiting in my bottom drawer.


Photo from http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/31/Barack_Obama_basketball_at_Martha%27s_Vineyard.jpg/452px-Barack_Obama_basketball_at_Martha%27s_Vineyard.jpg


Hey. I'm L. said...

Girl, what the hell is WRONG with you?!!!! You're gunna mess around and get MY black ass fired over here I'm laughing so damn loud!!!!

But you best believe I'm about to get up from this desk and mosey out to get me a Sprite. Right. Now.

Oh! And PLEASE tell me you're lying about the receptionist and the intern. That's just wrong.

Strength/Courage/Wisdom said...

Hahahaha! Well, I hope you drank a Sprite for me because I drank all the ones I had.