The Jamaican Who Hated Crackers

I was jobless when I first moved to New York City. No job in NYC equals drunken nights with the homeless, garlic pizza at 2am, sudden fits of rage and crying and a 20 lb weight gain. After 2 months of that shit, I had to gain some of my dignity back. So, I took the first job that was offered to me.

I was the "Sales Assistant" to one of the major revenue generators at a Financial Services company. She hated me. Well, to be fair, she liked me for the first week....she even took me to lunch. What a treat. Seriously. Before me, she had gone through 11 assistants in 1 year. I thought that I was up to the challenge. I mean, I'm likable, or whatever.

I sat outside of her office and would have to listen to her phone conversations from 8:30am - 5:30pm. Most of the phone calls had to do with hedge fund products, but some, the personal, had to do with how much she hated crackers. She was Jamaican and she despised the blue eyed devil. I'm totally cool with hating the man, or whomever you have to hate. But, I just happen to be milk toast. She never made a point to whisper her hate. She made sure that I could feel in my bones her distaste for whiteys. Okay, point taken lady-friend.

I quit the job after 1 year (I have rejection issues). I never confronted her about it....mostly because I had not grown my NYC sac yet. But, I have a pair now and have sent this to her in an email.

One Love!