Chris and Ri Ri and nem…

Remember him? He was fine… skin like butter, straight teeth, fresh fade and washboard abs. He was tall, short, medium, dark, caramel, light and handsome. He was the pretty boy or the roughneck, the one everyone wanted and when he chose you, YOU, over all of the dozens of girls who swooned over him you told yourself that you were lucky. Everything was wonderful at first. He told you, you were the only one and you believed him. You ignored the rumors about him and other girls because they were all jealous. Everyone was jealous of you both but most of all HE was jealous. He didn’t like for you to talk to other boys even if they were just your friends and if he caught a boy looking at you he wanted to fight… them. When he told you that he didn’t like it when you wore certain things because it attracted the wrong type of attention you thought it was kinda cute, even gallant. And when he told you that you should stop talking to your friends because they were always saying something negative about him and your relationship you listened because you wanted your relationship to work. Besides, they were all jealous… right? Then one day the two of you got into an argument, you were both really upset and both said some things you’d later regret, and out of no where he hit you… hard enough to make you stop talking. It took a moment then the pain and shock radiated throughout your body. Instantly, he was sorry, he even cried with you and wouldn’t let you leave until you forgave him. You covered up the bruise, the one on your face and the one in your heart, and pressed on… that is until the next time and this time he was less than apologetic.

In my late 20’s I dated someone who was, while not F-I-N-E, good looking. He wasn’t as intelligent or as mature as I was, didn’t have a job and smoked copious amounts of weed and I knew we had little if anything in common but I was bored and he was cute. (It had been a while since my last relationship.) After a couple of weeks of dating he moved in and that’s when I started noticing he had a problem with his temper. He pouted when he couldn’t get his way like a five year old… lip poked out, sullen and defiant… on my couch! I learned to ignore him but then one day when I took him to meet a business contact, that could have resulted in employment for him, he crossed the line.

He sat in my contact’s office in earshot of the staff cursing because the man we’d come to see was late. When I reminded him that we were still sitting in the contact’s office and that people could hear him and he needed to quiet down he said, “Don’t you ever tell me what the fuck to do. See that’s what your motherfuckin’ problem is you talk to goddamn much. You ain’t my wife or my mother don’t you ever tell me what the fuck to say!” I was in shock. It was like someone had kicked me in my gut. No one had ever spoken like that to me in my life. As I opened my mouth to speak the lobby door opened and an older gentleman entered. I told the man I was with that I thought it was time to leave. He agreed and we left. As I started the car, my car, I gathered myself and said in a very calm voice, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again in public,” (as if private would’ve been better). He began to scream and curse, jumping up and down in my 1990 Hyundai hatchback and hitting his hand with his fist. “See,” he said, “I knew you wasn’t gon’ just let that shit drop! I told you, you ain’t my motherfuckin’ wife or mother you don’t tell me what the fuck to do, etc…!” I couldn’t believe how this fool was performing! I pulled over on the side of a busy street and yelled for him to get out. I was so angry tears streamed down my face, my voice cracked and my body was shaking. He got out albeit reluctantly. I went home and packed all of his things, one box and two duffel bags worth of stuff, which were picked up that night by a third party. The relationship hadn’t lasted a month!

Our tight knit Pan African community was upset over the news of what he’d done. My parents and brothers were relieved he didn’t hit me, that we broke up and that they didn’t have to risk losing their freedom by putting him in the ground. I demanded an apology from him and got it. He started calling again and we saw each other a few times after that but we never got back together. I couldn’t. Shortly thereafter he began dating a woman I knew and was friendly with. He blacked her eye, twice.

Okay, maybe you’ve never experienced physical, psychological or verbal abuse, but we all know a woman who has. If you are one of the fortunate few who doesn’t know anyone who has experienced abuse you do now with the continuing saga of singers, Chris Brown and Rihanna. Turn on the TV, they’re everywhere! Now, I’m no expert or psychic but I’m willing to guess that this is not the first time that these two have fought and he’s hit her. There was an ease and comfort with which the abuse flowed from him. God often sends you a pebble before he sends you a rock and people tell you who they are, it is up to you to listen. My pebble was when the man I was dating decided to verbally abuse me. The way he jumped up and down in my car pounding his hand with his fist let me know that, sooner or later, I was next. The transcript provided by Rihanna to the LAPD reads like the ghetto playbook for wife beaters and girlfriend abusers. “You know I’m gonna beat your ass when we get home,” “Now, I’m gonna kill you.” If this was the first time he’d abused her those statements were the pebble and his fists were the rock.

Message boards on social networking sites have been all a buzz since the news broke about Chris and Rihanna and I have been amazed by how many women, African American women, have either outright defended his actions or said that we shouldn’t judge because we don’t really know what happened. These women began citing instances where a man has hit a woman and they thought he was justified in doing so. To me, this type of attitude is indicative of how acceptable it is for domestic violence is in our community. It also made me wonder how many women on those message boards have been abused by their partners in some way. Now that’s not to say that women are always right in their dealings with men but it is never okay for anyone to put their hands on someone else, debase someone else or attempt to control someone else. Love doesn’t hurt, love doesn’t hurt, love doesn’t hurt!

A few nights ago I dreamed about Chris Brown… someone said something to me and I jokingly said, “Alright, I’m gon’ do a Chris Brown and do you like he did Rihanna.” I could tell by everyone’s reaction, the “oooohs and aaaaaahs” that something was wrong. I turned around and Chris was there. I apologized, I told him I didn’t know he was there and I wouldn’t have said it if I’d known he was there. I told him it was not my goal to be offensive in any situation. Then I talked to him about his current predicament and that he had to use this as an opportunity to explore why he thought it was okay to hit her, to really get inside of himself. He seemed to genuinely listen to my advice. He seemed sorry for what he’d done and knew that this incident could potentially ruin his life. When I awoke I wondered if anyone was telling Chris these things since the whole world seems to be talking to Rihanna then I thought hell, I just did…

40 Acres and a Mule!

I have always done everything right... I was never a straight A student but I was definitely an above average, good student. Honor Roll and Merit Roll were regular occurrences for me as well as a slew of other awards. I attended a school and later classes specifically for “gifted” students where I was told I was part of the best and the brightest, the elite. I graduated college in four years, a rarity at most colleges and universities, and later I attended graduate school obtaining my MFA… I did everything right, which is why I am so confounded by my current set of circumstances.

I am broke.

I have been living Los Angeles for nearly 8 months and during this time I have sent out scores of resumes (well over 200) and have only had 7 interviews, only one resulted in an actual job (and it’s part time). I have redone my resume several times; tailoring it specifically to each employer’s needs and experimented with various cover letters. I have accounts on hotjobs.com, monster.com and careerbuilder.com and I even get the fabled United Talent Agency (UTA) job list. Daily, I peruse craigslist.org, mandy.com, entertainmentcareers.com and I have applied for jobs in every industry I have ever worked in from auto insurance to film/TV production. I have applied to job openings for receptionists, cashiers, assistants, grant writers, program directors, arts instructors, voice talent, tape loggers and mailroom assistants almost all to no avail.

I am exhausted.

A few weeks ago I attended a film/television industry career fair and networking event sponsored by the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences (the people that bring you the Emmys™). The presenter told us that he’d placed an ad for a job opening on the UTA job list and in one week had received 400 resumes. That was for one job! That got me to thinking… my resume is floating out there with hundreds, possibly thousands of other resumes, for each position that I applied for. With those odds how am I ever going to stand out? Tell me, would you read 400 cover letters and resumes? No… maybe the first, 15-20 but definitely not 400! (Note: When I posted job openings in Cleveland I was lucky if I got 15 responses… total.)

What the hell am I gonna do?

“It’s all in who you know,” that’s what everyone tells you out here but what if everyone you know is in one way or another in the same position as you, a paycheck away from complete financial ruin. The financially savvy live off of their savings, or worse yet credit cards, to make ends meet (because most of the entry level positions in the film/television industry don’t pay well). While others of us rely on the help of family and friends in the form of monetary gifts and interest free loans. Still others are lucky enough to have all of the above. But, what happens when all of your options have run out? No savings, no credit cards and no friends and family able to help out. You become me.

Oh God…

I have been working since I was 13 years old. I’ve had summer jobs, afterschool jobs, part time jobs and multiple jobs at once. I have worked over time, weekends and holidays. I have always, for the most part, been able to take care of myself and now I can’t.

I work as a “Traveling Specialist” for an arts organization, traveling to various schools teaching dance. My job cut my hours for the summer. I was down to working 2 days a week. I was making less than half of what I previously made and that was barely enough to pay my rent, car note and cell phone bill. Now my rent is late and due, the finance company is threatening to repossess my car (because I am more than two months behind) and my cell phone bill is due in a week. You can’t imagine the thoughts that run and have ran through my mind… how can I turn a quick buck without completely demeaning myself?

Last week I applied for food stamps.

The first time I stepped into the welfare office it was surprisingly not crowded. It was the day before the 4th of July. I handed my purse to the security guard and walked through the metal detector, of course I beeped but they waived me through. I walked into a large room with lots of teller style windows. I had no idea where to go and there were no clear directions posted anywhere. One of two security guards stationed at a booth in the front of the room directed me to the correct window and cheerfully observed that I obviously hadn’t been there before.

The woman at the window gave me a form to fill out then hit me with a barrage of questions:
“Have you ever applied for food stamps before?” She said.
“No,” I replied.
“Never?”
“No.”
“Do you have any kids?”
“No.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No… my job cut my hours for the summer and I am just trying to make ends meet.”
“Oh… well the entire interview process is going to take 3-4 hours.”
“What?”

I still had a job to go to and that day was First Aid/CPR Training, I couldn’t miss it.

“Uhhh… I have to go to work,” I said.
“What?” She said.
“I have to go to work.”
“But I already put you in the system.”
“Yeah, but I gotta go to work.”

She sucked her teeth and started talking to another woman behind the window. She got up from her stool. I didn’t know whether to leave or stay. She gathered a bunch of papers.

“Here, you need to fill these out.”
“Well, can I bring them back on Monday?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wow… she couldn’t just say that earlier, what was with the extra “attitude?” I skulked out of the office hoping no one I knew saw me.

It took over an hour fill out all of the paperwork that she gave me and I told myself that I would get there bright and early on Monday. The office opened at 8AM. I was parking my car by 8:40AM and there was already a long line in front of the building, it was like a disco but there was no music. Once I made it inside the lines were ridiculous at every window. People avoided making eye contact with one another while cautiously surveying the scene.

You had mothers with children, the elderly, the homeless, the disabled and the young able bodied but broke like me. There was also every race, nationality, ethnicity and sexual orientation represented in that room. Whoa, I thought, this is truly America and I was also reminded of a comment a peer made in graduate school that my people get free money from the government… I think it was supposed to be a joke but I didn’t laugh. .

I turned in my paperwork at on of the windows and waited for my name to be called over the speaker. I was afraid I was going to miss it. The low murmur of conversation from all of those people made it difficult to hear and one man was talking loudly to a person on the other side of the windows about how his check didn’t come and he almost starved over the weekend and went into diabetic shock! (He also carried a plastic bag filled with various medications.)

When my name was called I had to find someone to direct me where to go next. He pointed to a room across the hall. It was filled with more “teller” windows but this time there were chairs in front of them. I sat in front of my assigned window waiting for someone to appear. Behind me a black man complained that he was tired of being disrespected. He declared that he deserved good customer service not the run around and that he was a man. When I finally gathered up the courage to turn and look at him a white man was standing beside him trying to soothe him by getting him to focus on getting his benefits not his respect.

Damn…

Finally a woman appeared and introduced herself as my temporary caseworker. She was pleasant. I think she could tell I was nervous. We filled out more paperwork and reviewed what I’d already turned in. She asked me for income, rental, and utility verification. I hadn’t been told to bring anything when I initially called or came to the office. I just happened to have a few check stubs because I thought they’d be helpful. By the way, she wasn’t at all surprised that I wasn’t told what to bring in. So she gave me a postage paid envelope and a list of what I needed to send back to her. She said I didn’t need to come back unless I wanted to. I smiled, thanked her and told her I was definitely mailing my verification paperwork in.

It took me a week to complete the verification paperwork not because I couldn’t get the verifications she requested but because I kept hoping that I didn’t have to go through with the entire process. I am ashamed that I have to apply for government assistance even though I have been helping to pay for this assistance as a taxpayer for 22 years. I mean, why should I feel ashamed, right? I am no “welfare queen” eager to live off of the system, content not to work. But now, I am a part of those “bad” statistics… one of the many women of color on welfare… often blamed for over burdening the system.

I sent off my verification paperwork on Monday.

A closed mouth don’t get fed.

PS. Last week I was given back some of the hours my job had taken from me… they placed me at another school but it’s still not enough and a little too late. However, I am very thankful for this boost in income. I also have a “lead” on a better job for which I am also thankful. Wish me luck!