Aya

I was on site this past week, working with an ailing construction company. Nothing special, just one of those assignments that make me wish I had pursued medicine like I wanted in kindergarten.

Checked into a hotel Tuesday (every bit the hotel that Motel 6 is). Dingy walls, smelly carpet, no fresh air circulating, and bizzare marks on the wall near the bed. My first day on site went smoothly. Freezing rain made walking treacherous but I got my boots and my cute yellow hat. What more could a girl want?

Finished work and crashed to my room around 8p.m., ordered Little Miss Sunshine and started eating my now cold but not half-bad dinner in bed. Decided to sleep early to be on site again at 6a.m. I put my head to the pillow a little before ten and not 15 minutes later, I hear this thud-thud-thud sound in the room.

This is not my first time in a shitty little motel in a crappy little town. I figured that even with Viagra, the smelly fuckers (pun intended) in the next room would quiet down eventually. I am cursed. They were at it till a little after 3a.m. The same pattern. Thud-thud-thud, laughs, shouts, scratches of bed metal against wall, some more laughs. I sat at the table, cradling my achy head between my hands. Since I had to be on the highway at 5a.m. anyway, I hop into the shower and daydream about coffee and pastry.

Wednesday night and I am a little rough around the edges. A black girl needs her beauty rest. My hair is frizzing, little bags around my eyes, my lips are dry from talking all day. I get into bed around 8p.m. and like clockwork, the thud-laugh-scratch concerto begins. I kick myself mentally for not changing rooms as I had planned. Bloody lazy nomad!

I put on jeans, stumble like a wino down the hall, kick their door as hard as I can before I take the lift. The front desk girl is barely out of high school and the universe, as usual, throws people of the lowest understanding in my path.

“We have no available rooms, ma’am”
“I’ll take anything, will pay more”
“Sorry, ma’am”
“Can I get someone to speak to them?”
“I’ll talk to my supervisor, ma’am”

I was repeatedly ma’amed and given the bum’s rush for NOTHING.

My last day on site before meeting the bosses. I was less composed. Almost tripped and broke my face. Fatigue and work boots don’t go well together.

In my exquisite state of tiredness, all I could think about is monkey sex. Monkey sex, monkey sex. I was now hallucinating on the highway. They’ve wounded my psyche. Damn monkey lovers!

Some of you may remember a story about me swimming in a heap of resumes during the holiday break and being resentful as hell. The candidate who was hired (and my own top choice) is something of an enigma in the group. He is a 44-year old African American man who completed an MBA not 18 months ago. He had a spotty (a generous term on my part) work history that included a 5 year stint in the army and caring for a father dying of cancer. He is now a single father to twin 8-year old boys and my newest trainee.

I am, quite frankly, shocked. In about 6 years of playing this game, I have yet to see someone older than 28-30 hired in these positions, much less someone with an unremarkable resume, a spotty work record and a modest education (as they judge).

He’s beat out about 30 candidates 15-20 years younger than him, some graduated from the top schools in the US. He starts in about 2 weeks and I’ll be taking him (and a couple of other new employees) to lunch next week. I have to admit, I didn’t think they would give him a second look much less an offer. The decision’s made my Friday.

I’ve heard some grumblings and seen some eye-rolls from idiots in booths around me. He is not going to have an easy time and this is certainly a new beginning for him. I will keep you posted.

This is an actual mall in midwest America. It is a Black mall as the city natives call it and it is in miserable shape. Businesses have left and smaller or seasonal vendors have not come back. Black-owned and run businesses face some pretty painful odds and economic development is more of an illusion in the poorest regions.

As I walked about, I couldn’t help but note that more than 90% of the shops were closed, the ceiling had water damage, and the floor creaked. Apart from a few (frankly intimidating) young, black men, I saw no families, women, or old people. The more wealthy malls in the white part of town are teeming with shoppers.

I was hoping to speak to a couple of shop attendants but sullen, disinterested teens muttered that the owners were not there. How do they remain open and pay the lease and salaries if there are no shoppers on the busiest day (Saturday @11a.m.)? More importantly, why remain open? It is clear the economic depression of these regions and the general poverty of populace affects these businesses. I am curious, though, about where they do shop despite the poverty. Certainly, not in this mall.

I noted this display aimed at teenagers, I think. Wonder what it’s all about.

If I had any real fear of flying, I would find it difficult to take on projects but that doesn’t mean that take-off doesn’t make my heart race. I spent the better part of the last 3 days inside a plane, an airport or a cab. I am pretty exhausted but thought I should share a couple of images.

This was my view from the back of the little piece of shit plane I took from Boston. There was so much turbulence, I regret I hadn’t prepared a will.

In my lifetime, I would like to see children 12 and under banned from travel. I don’t care how the snot-faced bastards will get to see grandma or mickey in disney world. This little fuckface was whining the entire flight: can I have the bbq chips, I wanna watch a movie, I’m booooored. I fantasized about opening the emergency door, throwing his spoiled ass out of the plane and enjoying the rest of my Achebe book.