Читать книгу So You Call Yourself A Man - Carl Weber - Страница 11

I was in the middle of an interview with the director of human resources for UPS’s Queens, New York, hub. The interview was supposed to be just a formality for me to get the job as a driver, but I wasn’t so sure about that anymore. I’d had a bad feeling about the balding, overweight white man sitting in front of me from the second I walked in the room. He just had that look—you know, the look that said, I’m interviewing your black ass because I have to, but I really can’t stand niggers, so don’t even think you’re getting a job out of me. Oh, he was too politically correct or just plain afraid of the lawsuit I’d slap on UPS to say something like that to my face, but he was thinking it, that I was sure of. I’d been on too many job interviews with too many racist corporate motherfuckers the past three months not to know that look. So, unless I could pull a rabbit out of my hat and convince him that I was one of those good, helpful niggers like James, my chance of finally getting a job were slim to none.

“Well, Mr. Harrison, I must admit you have a very impressive resume. A bachelor’s in computer science from Virginia State University, three years IT with Sherman, and before that, ten years with Henry Schein. James was right when he said you were a very smart man.”

“Thanks.” I sat up in my seat. I was feeling a little more comfortable. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad after all, I thought, until he shot me an annoyed, cross-eyed look that seemed to say, When I need your opinion, I’ll ask for it.

“Mr. Harrison, there is something I don’t understand, though.” He looked down at my resume and frowned. I hated this part; this was where he asked me why I hadn’t been working the past three months, then I decided whether to tell the truth or to lie. “Why are you applying for a job as a UPS driver? You don’t have any experience as a truck driver. You’ve never even worked in the delivery field.” He sat back in his chair, staring at me with his beady eyes. I felt like I was shrinking before him, and the more I tried to sit up, the smaller I became. I wasn’t expecting this question because James made it seem like the job was in the bag.

“I understand that I don’t have any experience, but I do have the proper license and I’m very motivated. I’m extremely motivated.”

“I’m sure you are, but if you were me, would you hire a guy with a computer background to drive a truck?”

Damn, the redneck had me on that one. He had used reverse psychology and it had worked. I tried to remain confident, but at that point I knew the end was near.

“All I can tell you, Mr. Weinstein, is that I wanna work for UPS, and I’m sure I can be a damn good driver.” I felt like a slave begging the massa to take me out of the field and put me in the house.

“I believe you could be a good driver, but for how long? How long would you be happy driving a truck, Mr. Harrison? Six months, a year tops.” He shook his head. “No, Mr. Harrison, you’re not a truck driver.”

“Mr. Weinstein, please, you don’t understand. I really need this job.”

He glanced at my resume one last time, then slid it into a folder, sighing as if he was sorry. But that redneck motherfucker wasn’t sorry. He wasn’t sorry at all. He’d achieved his goal. He didn’t want me to have this job in the first place. Unfortunately, my stupid ass listened to James and my desperation to find a job, instead of my intuition and my wife, who, although supportive in the end, wanted me to keep my ass in Seattle. I was tempted to cuss this redneck’s fat ass out before I left, but I wasn’t sure how that would affect James. So instead, I stood up and said, “Thank you for your time,” as if he’d done me a favor.

“Sit down, Mr. Harrison,” he ordered, and the only thing that went through my mind was, No he didn’t! At that point, I’m sure he could see the contempt on my face, so he rephrased his demand. “Mr. Harrison, would you please sit down?”

I took a deep breath and did like he asked. Why, I don’t know. Slave mentality, I guess.

“Mr. Harrison, I basically promised James I’d give you a job as a driver, but after looking at your resume, I just can’t do it.”

That motherfucker had the nerve to smile. I pushed myself out of my chair. He’d already made it clear he wasn’t going to hire me. I wasn’t about to let him ridicule me further. “I think you made that pretty clear the first time.”

“Mr. Harrison, I have one last thing to say, and after that you can leave.”

The second I walked out of the UPS building, I took a deep breath, wiping away a single tear as I dialed my home phone. Jessica answered on the second ring, and the first thing that came out of her mouth was, “Did you get the job?” There was no “Hello,” no “Hey baby,” not even a “How did it go?” None of that. Just a straight-to-the-point “Did you get the job?”

“Well…” I replied rather solemnly, but before I could answer, she cut me off.

“Oh, God, don’t tell me you didn’t get the job, Sonny.” Her voice cracked with concern, and for a second I was afraid to answer.

“No, hun, I didn’t get the job as a driver,” I replied, but all I could hear was her breathing. “Jes, you still there?”

She finally responded, her words even sadder than before. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to celebrate,” I told her with excitement.

“Celebrate? Celebrate what? Being broke?”

“No, my new job as a UPS computer analyst.”

“New job? Computer analyst?”

“That’s what I said.”

“But you said you didn’t get the job.”

“I said I didn’t get the job as a driver, but that’s only because they wanted to offer me a job as an analyst.”

“You got the job?” she mumbled happily.

“That’s right, baby, so pack your bags, because James hooked us up and we’re moving back to New York.”

“You got the job?” she repeated, like she still didn’t believe me. I knew she’d been concerned about me being out of work, but I never knew just how much until now. I guess that’s why she allowed me to come to New York and interview. She was afraid that if I didn’t, I might not get a job anywhere.

“Yes, baby, we got the job.”

“Thank God,” she said, and the relief in her voice made me smile. “So when are we moving? Oh, my God, I’ve got so much to do.”

“I’ll be back in about a week or two. I’ve gotta find us a place to live and get a few things straight here. Do you think you can get everything ready to go by the time I get back?”

“Sweetheart, you can count on it,” she replied, in a voice that assured me the job would be done.