Oh, What a Month

So, I've neglected to do any writing for over a month. Again. It's been a really busy month though. I moved in with my girlfriend and her eight year-old daughter in the middle of May. I've been a bit of a stay-at-home-dad since then, taking care of the wee one and looking for a job. As of this moment, I am still unemployed. Guess I need to work a bit harder on it, or settle for something that I've been passing over because I thought I could do better. I was obviously mistaken.

Enough of that though. Today I had a doctor's appointment and had to make the long drive to the office early this morning. I was walking up to the elevators when this black man (I only bring up the color of his skin because it's a vital part of the story) waiting in front of them sizes me up. He looks closely at my shirt, reads it, "Meat is Murder. Tasty, Tasty Murder," looks up to me and says, "Man, that's deep." Now, I don't wear the shirt to inspire existential quandaries. This response was a new one for me. I reasoned that I was dealing with a "special" individual. He quickly began rambling about his life story. I didn't make out much of what was spewing from his mouth, but I did catch that he had diabetes and he was from Louisiana. Everything else was lost in his mumbling. I just smiled and nodded.

We entered the elevator and the man wasted no time. He asked me if I was racist. Wow. I've never had anyone be so blunt about the subject to my face before. Especially when the next words out of this mouth were, "Can you spare some cash?" As a general rule, I don't carry cash. I just don't like it. When I did carry cash, my pockets were most often filled with change that I never used. The jangling of my pockets seemed to attract many panhandlers, like the one I was confronted with today. I feel bad when people ask me for change, sometimes. Like today as I was driving home there was a woman on the side of the street holding a sign that read, "Single Mom trying to make ends meet." I didn't feel bad for her. Why? Well, if she was a single mom, where were the kids? I just had no sympathy for a woman who felt that her time was better spent sitting on a corner than with her kids, or looking for any kind of job.

Anyway, I told the guy that I wasn't racist and I, unfortunately, didn't have any money on me. He's used to rejection as he smiled and said it was okay. He then asked me where the church was. Oh man, did this guy know how to ask me questions that I would answer "No" to, or what? I was expecting him to ask if I knew the square root of pi next.

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