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Short Teasers Taken From the Novel I Hate My Job

Taken From Chapter 22: The Interview From Hell

Interviews were the worst, but making pocket change before heading to law school beats eating ramen noodles everyday as a broke student.

Lanette, the lady from the temp agency, hooked me up with an interview at a law firm. The temp assignment was the perfect opportunity to gain some knowledge before I was scheduled to take the LSAT…so at least I thought.

I waited in the lobby for five minutes donned in a brown suit and matching suede loafers until two men approached me with wide smiles. They looked like clowns, but I took my mind off from joaning on them and maintained focus.

“Are you Justice King?” a guy with blue eyes and blond hair asked me.

“Yes, I’m Justice King. Nice to meet you.” I extended my right arm and shook hands with them.

“My name is Jack Meoff,” the guy with blue eyes said. “And this is my business associate, Stu Piddass.”

Piddass was taller than his partner and I, and looked rather nervous, as if he’d never seen a brother before. I disregarded his giddiness, and Jack Meoff directed us to an empty conference room to start the interview.

Heat from the vents pulled sweat from my neck and I wiped my brow with a napkin. I grabbed a seat and sat across from Meoff and Piddass. I loosened my collar and dropped my leather carry bag on the floor.

“Do you mind if I take off my jacket?” I asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” Meoff responded, and Piddass looked at me like I was speaking alien. He was already rubbing me the wrong way.

I took off my suit jacket and placed it on the back of the chair. They both hawked at me while I handed them my resume. Their foreheads creased while studying the one-paged sheet of my history.

“I see you attended State University,” Piddass said in a stuck up way. “Hmm, a very good school.”

Dude was beyond condescending. I stayed cool with my hands folded on the table. Working with Adam and Suzie was a blessing in disguise because I knew how to handle characters with snooty attitudes. Stu Piddass’s breath smelled as if he’d swallowed a skunk. I held my breathing every time he spoke.

Meoff leaned forward with his hands also folded together.

“Tell me a little bit about your background.” Meoff’s high pitched voice brought fright to my ears. He sounded like a man butchering a song by singing off key on Karaoke night.

“I attended State University with a bachelor’s in Political Science, and graduated with a 3.6 GPA,” I said, in interview talk, and my history raised eyebrows. “I made the dean’s list three times as an undergrad, and was once president of the Me Phi Me National Honors Society.”

Meoff intensely studied my resume. “Okay, it looks like you have good qualifications for the job.” He shuffled through his notes, and Piddass glanced at his watch every ten seconds. “Well, Mr. King. What the company is offering is a copier position.”

“A copier position?” my voice turned high-pitched.

“Yes, a copier position.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I got the impression that the position involved assisting lawyers with court cases based on the job description that was posted.”

“Well, yes and no,” Piddass butted in. “You will assist lawyers, but only with copying their court documents for eight hours along with a 30-minute lunch break.”

These folks are insane! I thought to myself, and I pushed for more questions out of them to see if I could lobby for an office position.

“Are there any other positions available for clerical work?” I asked.

“Well, um…um, no.” Meoff stuttered, and looked over to Stu Piddass. “Only the copier position. Let me remind you, if you take this job you can only take one day off during the year.”

“What happens if someone in my family becomes sick, or if I need sick days?” I glared at them.

“Well, we would have to let you go. This job is very intense, and we have to make sure you’re here every day of the week.”

“So if I broke a knee cap, you’ll still expect me to come to work with one leg?” I played with them.

“Not to that extreme, but when, excuse me, if the time comes, we shall see.”

These cats were insane. Standing on my feet copying papers all day was degrading to my degree. I was baffled at how they pushed for me to copy papers without making the smallest effort to recommend me to a desk position. At least working clerical could’ve held me down until law school. Working without days off was like juggling fire without gloves. Even though the position was temporary, I still wasn’t settling for less.

“Are you’re interested in a slower paced or faster paced environment?” Piddass asked while staring at my resume.

“Which one do you think is more productive?” I responded half-heartedly with nothing to lose or gain.

“I think the slower pace is good for you.”

“Are you saying I’m slow?” I chuckled, and Piddass whispered off a sinister laugh.

“No, no, no.” Meoff grabbed the conversation away from his partner. “We think it’ll be a good fit for you.”

After Meoff finished, it was time for me to lawyer them.

“Do you think the copying position reflects my degree?” I asked, but to no one specifically.

“No, it doesn’t. You’re actually overqualified for the position,” answered Jack Meoff.

“So if I’m overqualified, then why wouldn’t you refer me to a position that remotely reflects my degree instead of having me stand for eight hours copying papers?” I asked, and “stuck on stupid” and “parked on dumb” were too lost for words.

I nodded and sucked my teeth with a crooked smile. “It was nice meeting you, sirs, but there’s no way I can take this job.” I politely shook their hands and went on my merry way. I bought me a bottle of pink lemonade from the vendor in the lobby and waited outside after calling a taxi. The trip to Long Island was a waste of time and money, but regret was a learning experience.

Shoe Fetish was a severe let down after graduating and I wasn’t continuing that trend. My old earth had once told me, “Nobody will ever give you what you’re worth. You only get what you negotiate.” And I took heed to that jewel.

As I waited for the taxi, my cell phone rang, and I answered.

“Hey, Justice,” the female voice greeted me. “What’s good?”

I didn’t recognize the person on the other end, but I went along anyway. “Nothin’. Just got outta this wack ass interview. I’m headed back to Brooklyn now. What’s good with you?” I asked, still unsure of whom I was speaking with.

“Nothin’…nothin’.” The woman hesitated and lightly hummed to her next words. “I have somethin’ to tell you.”

“Uh…okay, whassup?” I expected the worst and hoped for the best.

“I’m pregnant.”

Taken From Chapter 3: Can a Brother Get a Job?

“Are you crazy, man? You wanna roll with a cat like Scar-lo who’s most likely to land his Black ass back in jail?” I charged at him, hoping what I was hearing was bluffing my ears.

“What else is there to do?” Casper tossed his hands in the air in defeat.

“Get a job,” I responded.

“C’mon, sun. There’s no jobs in New York that can pay me decent money to live. Makin’ $8 an hour ain’t shit. Why I gotta travel an hour and change to Long Island or Westchester County just for a damn job?”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Yeah, and I’ma do just that. I’m not workin’ for someone and fattenin’ their pockets while my family starves.” Casper turned away from me and stared over the ledge of the roof. “The workin’ class nigga is broke.”

“So you gonna sell drugs or stick up folks for money?” I asked. Casper didn’t answer. He kept staring at the streets below.

“What about your daughter?” I asked him.

“What about my daughter?”

“She’s not gonna have a father around when you’re either dead or in jail.”

“Justice, I’m as good as dead. I’m not around half the time anyway because I’m out lookin’ for a job, or goin’ hard with hustlin’ clothes on the block. Those fat bastards across the bridge don’t wanna hire me anyway.”

“They don’t wanna hire you because you only have a high school diploma.”

“That’s bullshit, man!” Casper faced me with coldness stiffening his face. “Goin’ to college don’t mean shit. It’s who you know. I know brothas who went to college and still work in fast-food joints, payin’ back loans that’ll last them to their grave. You can read most of the shit you learn at college for free in a library anyway. But see, you was smart; you went to school to study law. And you need a license for that or somethin’. I don’t need a damn degree to open a business…or become a writer…or some other artsy shit that people spend their lives away on.”

Casper had a point, but I still drilled him. “So you just gonna fall in the trap and sell poison to your own people?”

“I gotta do what I gotta do, sun. I gotta feed my family, even if it kills me or someone else. It’s a jungle out here, b. If I’m not gonna sell it, somebody else will. I gotta go for mines hard body.” Casper shrugged his shoulders, and I shook my head in disbelief. He sensed my disappointment and sat next to me.

“Man, listen. Niggas who smoke that shit are weak anyways,” he drunkenly reasoned.

“That’s bullshit. You’re giving the system a reason to lock you up and fill up prisons with brothas.”

“Man, fuck that. Them peckerwoods wanna act holy when they’re the ones bringin’ dope in the country.”

“Exactly! You talk about fattenin’ someone’s pockets, but whose pockets you knottin’ when you pitch crack on the block? Who’s gettin’ money when they gotta bury your ass, or you slavin’ in prison makin’ peanuts?” I blazed the question, and Casper dropped his head to the ground. “Look at me, sun. You claim people smokin’ crack and shootin’ dope in their veins are weak, but you’re givin’ up and riskin’ your life over bullshit.”

Casper said, “I know what I’m thinkin’ about doin’ is wrong. But how can you live right when all you see is wrong?” He stood up and gulped a full cup of liquor with one swallow. “And it seems like you don’t get rewarded when you do right. They only remember the bad guys. I’d rather die young and rich than old and broke.”

Casper slumped against the ledge of the roof with his hands covering his face. He stood on top of the ledge again, and looked sober after staggering from the crate. The night casted a shadow over him as the glow from street lights below reflected off the surrounding buildings. He stretched his arms wide and his body was shaped like a cross. I thought he was crazy. I wasn’t sure if he’d lost his mind by pretending he was a dare devil.

“You think I can fly with the birds?” He flapped his arms, and I was lost for words. He laughed out loud. I hadn’t seen Casper exuberant and madly insane at the same time; he’d clearly lost his mind. Funeralizing his emotions and baptizing his pain in liquor, Casper lived a broken man’s dream; picking up pieces to scheme and make cream without staring at lady justice in his rearview. Sitting there not knowing whether he was itching to jump off the roof or step down, I stayed pinned onto the crate. He continued to laugh like a demonic clown.

He glanced at the sky and drunkenly fell backwards. I rushed over and held him before he really found himself dangling over the ledge on the other side of the roof.

“Your name’s not Clark Kent, and you’re not Superman.” I held him straight against the ledge. Casper poured himself another full cup of that “get right” before carrying on.

“I always wanted to be a scientist. I remember looking at this poster with all the famous Black inventors and I wanted to be like them. But the school system is fucked up. Teachers never gave a shit about my dream, and the schools didn’t have enough bread and no equipment for what I wanted to do. Do you know how I felt when those assholes told me I wasn’t gone amount to shit? They pushed me away and never reached out to listen, but those are the same niggas sayin' I’m a threat to society when they made me this way; when a nigga like me rob them for shit they didn’t wanna share. How can people talk bad about me without giving me choices to make it? I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I don’t got shit to make it out. Yeah, some do make it out the ‘hood, but not everyone makes it. It doesn’t work that way. But you know what? I’m gonna do what I gotta do. And if that means riskin’ everything I have, then so be it.” Casper spilled his guts to the air and swallowed the last of his drink.

He handed me the bottle, and I poured more liquor into his cup and mine. I held my cup to the sky and gestured my head for him to do the same. Our eyes were locked onto the Manhattan skyline that looked like another country miles away.

“The only way to go is up. Let’s toast to victory.” I held my cup in the air and Casper hesitated. He smiled crookedly and styled a look of doubt. His arm slowly arose to the stars, and we toasted for success without the life behind bars.

Taken From Chapter 7: TGIM (Thank God It's Monday)

I stopped rhyming and stared at the time. It took an eternity for the store to close. Freedom ticked on the clock and teased me to bounce out the joint. A short, brown-skinned woman was surfing her hands around discounted shoes on the racks. I slowly stepped to her, and she cautiously turned her head.

“Excuse me, miss. Please place the shoes back on the rack when you’re done,” I referred to the open boxes of shoes scattered around her feet.

“Excuse me?” She expressed an attitude by tugging on the scarf that snaked around her neck.

Confusingly, I said, “We’re almost closed. I would appreciate if you could re-rack the shoes when you’re finished.”

After I politely spoke to the woman, her senses when AWOL, and she snapped at me. “I know how to re-rack shoes. I’m not dirty.”

“I’m not sayin’ you were dirty. I would like to leave early. Customers have a habit of makin’ a mess, you know.” The gloves were off. I was pissed that the heifer just fucked up my high of leaving work early.

“Mister, I’ve worked in retail before, and I know everything is not gonna look fine after you leave.”

“Okay, so you’ve worked retail before, want a cookie?” My wise crack triggered her frustration. The lady spun her head around and brushed away the thick, long braids that dangled in front of her face.

"What’s your boss’s name?” she asked.

“Boss? I am a boss. My manager is up front if you’re looking for him.” I gunned back.

“Thank you. I’m reporting you since you wanna be a smart guy.”

She stormed out the department, and I went about my business. I treated the situation like killing a flea with a sledge hammer. Arguing with females wasn’t my thing. I paid her no mind and re-racked the shoes she’d left on the ground. Minutes later I saw Adam rushing toward the department with me not thinking anything of it. I honestly forgot about shorty until pepperoni face panted in front of me as if lions were chasing him.

“Justice, I just got a complaint from a customer about you harassing her.”

“I didn’t harass that woman.” I was so angry about the baseless complaint that I wanted to laugh. “I politely asked her to place the shoes back on the racks because the store was closing.”

“Yeah, I know, but I want to make sure the store is customer friendly.”

“Adam, how can I do my job when my own manager doesn’t have my back?” I heatedly bolted at him. “I gave her a reminder. Ninety-eight percent of my day consists of me cleaning up after customers.”

“Trust me. I understand where you’re coming from, but customers are always right.”

“That’s not fair. Who are you catering to, your employees, or customers who treat the store like the city dump?”

“Both, but I gotta make sure there isn’t a problem so Corporate won’t come down on me.” He pointed to himself, and I had enough.

“Okay, that’s cool. So do I need to walk around this place with a long poster hanging in front of me telling shoppers they can do anything they want because my manager says so?”

His face reddened after my brief tirade. He stopped himself for laying out whatever was drawn inside that pea brain of his, opting for a more calm response.

“The next time you have a problem with a customer, call me, or another supervisor that’s around,” he instructed, and I wanted to break his face for being so fucking weak.

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