LAZY - Conto escrito para um curso de escrita criativa em inglês (2017)

          “Black people never want to do any real work. Lazy black people.” The stereotype crossed his mind in a thousand different voices. He lazily looked back into the poorly lit room. There was the receptionist. It was a guy. Now there’d be a witness if he walked away. He didn’t have any smokes, so he just sat there, his ass on the side of an old mail box. He had been too lazy to get cigarettes, he should just quit anyway.

            Bakari’s last job had been at a hospital. A glorified janitor, he cleaned everything and did all the heavy lifting, quite literally. He was a large guy, and pretty strong. When he got that job, he decided he liked it. He was not going to be lazy this time, he wanted to help people, to look good and make a bit of a difference. He decided to work hard, foregoing breaks and, occasionally, working through his lunch or dinner breaks too.

            People liked him. His big smile was contagious, patients related to him a lot. They assumed he was a nurse, and Bakari didn’t always correct them. He was very solicitous, so he had to turn down tips a lot. They were forbidden. Bakari was not about to waste his chance because of some change here and there.

            The receptionist came to the door. “Are you Bakari Dokoré?” “Yes.” “Sorry… but we’re waiting for you for the interview…” “I’m sorry. I just need a minute, if that’s OK.” “Sure…”, said the receptionist, puzzled.

            At the hospital, he applied for the same desk job three times. He could organize patient’s bills, he actually had some accounting training. He was always turned down for a white boy. Good guys, those honkeys. He had trained them when they got there, and they were pretty good assistants. Tired of waiting, he gave them “lazy black guy” then, and was let go after a while. They had to cut expenses, which figured.

            Bakari looked inside and decided he didn’t really want this job. Except maybe if he felt he had a chance at something. Maybe then he could work hard. He slept better anyway, whenever he put in a hard day’s work. He got in the door and gave the receptionist a large, contagious white smile.

            “Hello there, sir”, said Bakari as he walked into the interview, looking at the well-built white man in the sharp suit. ‘Douglas Jones’, the plaque on his desk read distinctly. “Hello, Mr. Dokoree. Please take a seat.”

            Bakari’s earlier feelings starting melting away. Something felt right about this place. He didn’t expect liking someone interviewing him for a security job. Especially when they couldn’t get his last name right. Yet, maybe he could like this guy.

            “Where do you see yourself in five years, Mr. Dokoree?”

            “I’m a good, hard worker, and I’m pretty smart. So I see myself applying for any jobs higher up in this company and getting more responsibility and trust.”

            “But you don’t see yourself getting these other jobs in this company, do you?”

            Bakari could taste the contempt, the snark in the white man’s voice.

            “What do you mean?”

            “You said you saw yourself applying for those jobs, not getting them…”

            “Oh, I see myself getting them alright!”

            “I don’t know, Mr. Dokoree…” “Dokoré”, said Bakari, tensing up. “Yes, Dokoray. Looking at your resumé, the story is quite different. You drop jobs quite a lot and are pretty scant on references.”

            “I’m not always lucky. It’s not all on me…”

            Jones looked at the resumé and thought for a while. Bakari tilted his torso towards Mr. Jones and supported his weight on the armrests, ready to be dismissed out of his chair.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Dokoray, but I don’t see this happening. We’re looking for responsible, motivated people willing to do the job for years to come. Your attitude doesn’t fit in with those requisites.”

            Bakari reached across the desk and grabbed Mr. Jones’ neck with a firm grasp. And he squeezed. He whispered “I want just that, you bastard. I want years of employment, opportunity. Genuine, actual opportunity. Let me shine, let me dream… But don’t you expect me to dream big from the start, just so you can crush it! Yes, I see myself applying. And I see a white boy getting those better jobs… In five years? I see myself in jail in five years. Might as well get me there right now.”

            But Bakari was sitting still. Tense, back tilted towards the desk, hands on the armrests, squeezing tight. Mr. Jones was standing there with his hand stretched out, looking at Bakari Dokoré, puzzled. He repeated “Thank you for your time, Mr. Dokoray. Goodbye.”

            Bakari stood up and left without shaking the white man’s hand, went by the male secretary and lazily thought about where he’d be in five years while he went up the street, looking out for trouble.