Dredeir Writes

She got her hair pressed for this. She spent $80 out of her student loan refund money to get her hair pressed for this. She paid $80 at the only black hair salon near her apartment so she would not be late to get her hair straightened to sit and wait for this interview.

Not just any interview; The Interview. The Interview the rest of her law school classmates would kill for. The Interview she not so casually mentioned all week to her classmates. The Interview, that garners the typical, “how did YOU get THAT Interview,” response.

Nevertheless, here she sits. Waiting for The Interview as her straight hair’s straight shelf life swiftly diminishes. She tries not to stare as the suits glide past her. Each suit’s pair of eyes scans her from top to bottom; all pairs landing at the bottom.

“What is she doing here? Is the firm taking on pro bono clients now? Did we start a criminal defense practice group? Maybe another suit is looking for a secretary?” they think.  

She dares to meet their pairs. They smile, of course. Smile that, I had a black friend once smile. Smile that, it’s only the bad ones from the news that alarm me, smile. You know the ones from the news.

But she’s not quite the ones from the news. Pleasant looking. Her hair is straight, not big ghetto curly hair begging for attention. It’s professional. After giving her existence in this office some thought, they’ve decided they are okay with it. They don’t see color. They smile at all pleasant looking people; even if they are black.  “Not everything is about race. In fact most things are despite of race. This pleasant looking girl, black girl, is here despite of her race, which they didn’t notice of course. That’s progress.“ they think.

“I’ll take you back now. The Interview will be through here”, He says smiling.

Why, is He even interviewing this girl? He doesn’t think she will fit in with the culture here. Also his buddy told him his kid is looking for an internship. His buddy’s kid’s grades and writing sample are fine. Surely his mentorship will make up for the kid’s writing skills.

He internally groans as she keeps bragging. Top of the class this, writing award that; scholarship. His buddy mentioned his kid is humble. The kid’s already a better culture fit here. This firm hires humble guys from great families who focus on their work and not their accomplishments.

“Thank you for the opportunity. I hope to hear from you soon,” she says.

In the elevator, she pats her edges. She replays every answer to every question on the subway ride home. She believes The Interview went well. She suspects he was impressed when she mentioned her grades and writing awards. He mentioned the firm has a humble and just get the work done culture. She likes that. She wonders if she will hear back.

She gazed up at the grand warehouse walls. Standing outside of it, she took in the view. This horrid view. Everything in her bones told her she should leave. “You can’t do this” her inner self told her. Defiantly, she sauntered up to the closed door and hit the buzzer. PLEASE STATE YOUR NAME AND PURPOSE PLEASE. “None” her inner self screamed. Tracy Jackson and I’m here for an interview” she stated into the intercom. The door clicked unlocked and she started her journey.

Immediately, she was met with a metal detector asserting its distrust and implying she handover her personal possessions. She repeated her name to the half-listening security guard on the other side of the metal detector and collected her items. Tracy saw a lined notepad on the counter with names, dates, and times on it. Instinctively she picked up the pen and copied the format. “Once you’re done, take this packet and head down the hall to the third door on your left”. “Thanks you” she replied. “Mhm”. With packet in hand, Tracy led herself down the hall and entered the third door. An underfunded cafeteria-style waiting room awaited her. A couple of people seemed to have beaten her there. She found a seat sufficiently spaced apart from the two fellow packet holders and sat down. Failing at minding her own business she gazed over at her potentially new colleagues. A middle aged white woman with scaly skin, jeans, and a white t-shirt. Over to her left her eyes scanned a young black man in an untucked button down and loose fit tan pants. She over dressed. “HEATHER WILKINS!”

Tracy’s head snapped over to her right to find a small modestly dressed woman standing outside of another door with a clipboard scanning the waiting room for someone to signal themselves as Heather Wilkins. The white lady raised her hand and declared “That’s me!”  “Great, you can come on in” the small woman said with a modest smile.

Tracy opened the packet. Apparently, UPS is glad that Tracy has chosen to join their team. Internally, Tracy begs herself to realize her worth and leave. She tries to remind herself of her masters in public health and that she’s worth more than $11 an hour. Stubbornly humble, Tracy insists on staying. She has to pay the bills. Her mind wanders off to the life that seemed so available to her a few handshakes ago. Habitually, she questions each answer, cover letter, and moment from those promising interviews. Still in her mind, she was an answer away from sitting in an air-conditioned office with a respectable title and proud parents pictured on her desk. She would be focusing on her long to do list and wondering which restaurant in the city would she choose for lunch. Her mind wanders to the possibility of even having work friends. She’d freely text her friends to see if they wanted to hangout, knowing that there was enough in her bank account to cover lunch, dinner, and drinks.

The door swings open, and Heather walks out of the room as the door shuts behind her. Heather immediately puts her cell phone to her ear and tells someone to come pick her up. Tracy stares back at the packet. Checks her phone for calls or messages. She notices a text message from her Mom, with what her mom thinks are encouraging words. It was her mom who helped put her in the headspace to sit here. In this room. Waiting to be interviewed for a job instead of a career. In her mom’s defense it has been six months of unemployment after graduation. At this point, she’s living in a fantasy, holding on to her lunch, dinner, and drinks life that she felt she earned.

“Tracy Jackson!” announced the interviewer. Tracy masked a smile, raised her hand and stood up with her hand outstretched. “Hi, Tracy”, come on in, my name is Reagan Mitchell and I’m the manager for USP’s fulfillment center here. You can have a seat.” Reagan says motioning to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Tracy thanks her, sits and smiles and instinctively hands over her resume. “Oh! Thank you!, people rarely come with a resume” Reagan says surprised. As Reagan looks over the surprise resume Tracy scans Reagan’s office. Reagan received some sort of certificate from the local community college. She has a family, a life, and job sponsored awards. She has everything that Reagan wants, sans actual college degrees.

“So, Tracy, I see you have received a great education.” Reagan says with her voice trailing. “Yes, I have” Tracy responds, searching for a way to expand that answer into how her education serves to benefit her as she performs her job as a mail package fulfiller. “Listen Tracy, I don’t want to be rude but what are you doing here?”

Tracy puts her head down and then lifts it up and responds with an exacerbated shrug, “I need a job”.  Reagan chuckles to herself and says, “Don’t we all, but you and I both know you don’t want this job. You’re overqualified.” Tracy, forgetting she’s in an interview responds, “No one wants this job.” Reagan stares back and then looks back at Tracy’s resume, “listen I know the job market is tough but I can’t have someone like you here, working for me and resenting yourself, me, and your fellow employees for all the reasons why you ‘need a job’” Reagan says adding air quotes. Tracy purses her lips and says, “ you have no idea whether I am resentful or grateful to sit in this chair, you haven’t really started interviewing me at all. To be honest, I doubt you interviewed Heather before me or anyone. You likely just need bodies, and it never mattered who sat in this chair, so why does it matter now? Why start getting to know the motivation behind job applicants now that a real one sits in front of you dressed and prepared for a job interview.”

Reagan huffs and sits back in her chair and stares down Tracy in disbelief. “You know what, fine, you’re right, I haven’t started to interview you to get to know you, but I will now. Let’s get to know each other. “\For what in your life do you feel most grateful? Tracy sits up straight, “My family, because without them I would not have the anchor of humility driving my actions” Tracy responds. “Tell me Tracy, what is your biggest weakness?” “Apparently my over education” Tracy retorts. Reagan smiles and then snaps back, “And what kind of person would I be if I let you give up on your dreams and work here around people like myself and your fellow employees who also gave up?” Tracy sinks back into her chair and exhales and responds, “The kind of person who knows bills must be paid somehow, and hope doesn’t fill fridges.” Reagan sits up and hands Tracy back her resume “You will be the last person I call for a job. Your shifts will never be during normal business interview times, and I will not allow you to make any friends here. You listen to me, you pay the bills with me until you can pay the bills with your dreams. If I ever see that you feel comfortable with this job, I will fire you.” Tracy takes the resume and extends her hand to Reagan “Deal.”