I sit across the desk from Colin, my manager, trying to imagine the look on my face.
Was I serving him with my pushed up mouth, ‘I have no fucks to give‘ dead eyed stare, or am I fixing him with my ‘I’m so pissed I could quite happily drag you across this desk in a heartbeat and punch you in the face‘ angry Black Woman look?
I figured I was hovering somewhere between the two and willing myself not to laugh in his face, throw up deuces with both hands, grab my bag and leave.
What’s the Only Black Chick in the Office to do when she’s over it? When the desperation has gone and the novelty has worn off? What happens to her sanity and sense of Self in an environment where she’s both seen and unseen at the same time?
What do you do when you’re done?
There are days when I want to cry on my way into the Plantation. Days when I sit at my desk shifting paper from right to left to right, wondering how I’ve lasted so long; where the dull and tedious monotony isn’t even grey anymore, but a murky and blurry sludge on a slow cycle.
Colin leans across and I swear he’s trying to burn deep into my soul with his fishy blue eyes, as he tells me how good I am at the job, and how highly he thinks of me.
“I think the world of you – you know I do, but I think you’re a bit selfish. You’re not a team player.”
Not a team player?
I took that. I told Colin that he was probably right in his summation of his Patsy – in fact, I actually threw my head back and laughed out loud. These people have made me lose my fucking mind.
There is no incentive for me to want to do well.
There is no motivation for me to want to work.
In all honesty there’s nothing keeping me here other than the security of the (not enough to live on) salary that leaves my bank account just as soon as it arrives.
I HATE it here.
I LOATHE it here.
I’m extremely pissed and frustrated that three years down the line, I’m still here with zero prospects of moving up, down, left or right within the company – and seemingly, out of it completely!
I sit across the desk from Colin and I nod and laugh and cuss out his whole entire familial line in my head, all the while not saying exactly what I really want to say.
I don’t say what I really want to say, because that would invite the potential to totally lose my shit and end up with a P45 right there and then.
Because that would mean that I let my guard down – oh that was another issue raised; Colin thinks that I constantly have a guard up and that I should be myself because, “everybody here likes you – nobody has said a bad word against you.”
Ha! This guy just told me that he’s been chatting about me??!!
I just nodded with clenched teeth hidden behind a grin so forced it probably looked like I was having an enema, as I let the fact that Colin had clearly had my name in his mouth to every other heifer in the office, slide past undisputed.
Everybody loves the ‘selfish‘ Black woman who doesn’t do overtime in order to do other people’s work, or help out when other people are busy ‘cos she has her own piles of paper to shuffle from right to left to right?
I couldn’t give two shits what they think or feel about me, because I think and feel so very little about them – like the ancestors say, a lion cares not for the opinion of sheep…or words to that effect!
I’m just fucking DONE.
I refuse to give anymore of myself to this…mind-numbingly boring job that has nothing to give me in return, so until such time as I can hand deliver my letter of resignation on a silver platter, I’m gonna show up every damned day and make them fucking adore me.