Ten years ago I had a job working at my city’s public pool. I thought it was a decent gig. Every day I would come in and sit at a desk inside the mens locker room and listen to the radio until the kids from the summer camps would leave socks everywhere and show very poor accuracy when pooping. One time I opened a stall and it looked like a bomb went off in the toilet. I’m talking walls and everything. They used their hands.

I remember coming in one morning after it had rained all night and seeing the floor. The whole locker room was flooded. My boss was a washed up football player trying to find his place in society after the game. He walked in, looked at the floor and just said, “Fix it”. Then he walked out literally like bosses do. I had to get one of those squeegee things with the broom handle and push everything out of the conveniently located garage door. It took a long time.

Some of my buddies I played basketball with came over once and one tried to sneak in with out a wristband on. I told him he needed to pay. He left and came back with a obviously trashed wristband. I didn’t say anything because I knew him. Later one of my assistant managers came over to me and motioned to him and said, “Just because you sell a little something, that doesn’t make you hard.” I still don’t understand why this was said to me.

There was a girl that went to my high school that had my same position. She had just graduated that year. She was going to the south for college. She was cute. Actually, just about all of the girls that worked there that summer were cute. That was nice. I probably did more flirting than working.

Near the end of the summer, I was sitting in the main office with my boss, that same assistant manager and some lifeguards. It was a slow day so I think my boss just made something up for me to do. Before I left, the assistant manager said, “He is the hardest working locker room assistant we got”. Now, I was grateful and it meant a lot but looking back I think about how much the job sucked, how I only made $6.25/hr, and how hard I worked and it makes me think about how humbling that whole experience was. I always respect people that work their butts off in crappy positions because I’ve been there. That job enabled me to see that side of business. I promise it keeps me grounded.

Every once in a while, an old black dude in the plant will pull me to the side and tell me he’s glad to see me doing what I’m doing. They always tell me to keep it up because they know it’s not easy. They tell me how they want their kids to be engineers. I always get it. I always appreciate the encouragement. I always appreciate the history. It wasn’t that long ago that I wouldn’t have had this opportunity and they make sure I know it. Especially in Detroit.

My dad always told me that the janitors and garbage men should be highly regarded because they’re the only ones that would take the jobs no one wanted. Those jobs were all black men had back in the day. I hold those old guys in high regard. That’s real hard work. I understand.

In my first film, Roger & Me, a white woman on Social Security clubs a bunny rabbit to death so that she can sell him as “meat” instead of as a pet. I wish I had a nickel for every time in the last ten years someone has come up to me and told me how “horrified” and “shocked” they were when they saw that “poor little cute bunny” bonked on the head. The scene, they say, made them physically sick. Some had to turn away or leave the theater. Many wondered why I would include such a scene. The Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) gave Roger & Me an R rating in response to that rabbit killing (which compelled 60 Minutes to do a story on the stupidity of the rating system). Teachers write me and say they have to edit that part out of the film so they won’t get in trouble for showing my movie to their students.
But less than two minutes after the bunny lady does her deed, I included footage of a scene in which the police in Flint opened fire and shot a black man who was wearing a Superman cape and holding a plastic toy gun. Not once—not ever—has anyone said to me, “I can’t believe you showed a black man being shot in your movie! How horrible! How disgusting! I couldn’t sleep for weeks.” After all, he was just a black man, not a cute, cuddly bunny. There is no outrage at showing a black man being shot on camera (least of all from the MPAA ratings board, who saw absolutely nothing wrong with that scene).
Why? Because a black man being shot is no longer shocking. Just the opposite—it’s normal, natural. We’ve become so accustomed to seeing black men killed—in the movies and on the evening news—that we now accept it as standard operating procedure. No big
deal, just another dead black guy! That’s what blacks do—kill and die. Ho-hum. Pass the butter.
It’s odd that, despite the fact that most crimes are committed by whites, black faces are usually attached to what we think of as “crime.” Ask any white person who they fear might break into their home or harm them on the street, and if they’re honest, they’ll admit that the person they have in mind doesn’t look much like them. The imaginary criminal in their heads looks like Mookie or Hakim or Kareem, not little freckle-faced Jimmy.
Michael Moore - Stupid White Men
Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty (snobbish, high-minded, exclusive), but readily adjust yourself to [people, things] and give yourselves to humble tasks. Never overestimate yourself or be wise in your own conceits.

Romans‬ ‭12‬:‭16‬ AMP

Readily adjust yourself to anybody.

I’m trying to find some more INTPs to follow. Where y’all at?

Happy Independence Day. #1776 #4th #roadtrip

Why are we in the worst spot possible though? lol #fireworks

pennlive:

Seersucker Day at the State Capitol!

Then they got on a boat and sailed down the Mississippi.

(via alifesuited)

levanna:

Designer Workstations via andysowards

Love these spaces.

(via 30andbroke)

26 year old, Adventist-Christian that hopes to change the world.

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