Five Signs of a Dysfunctional Workplace: Black Folk Edition

For many youngish Black Americans, we are entering into professional arenas that our great-grandparents and grandparents could only ever dream about! On the one hand, it is exciting to watch all of our hard work and the prayers of our elders be answered. On the other hand, we face hiccups, harassment, and hardships on these jobs that our elders could not have foreseen. Even those of us with old souls with fairly high emotional quotients face challenges that we may not have the tools to overcome. I do not own any rights to the music included below. And I have not included it for the sole purpose of making money, but for educational purposes.

Reader, once upon a time, I had this friend who had this brother. She and her brother come from a single-parent home. Their mother worked hard at a clothing factory, saved her money, bought stock, and put both of her children through college. The brother, who was older, graduated first with a degree in economics. Like most recent college graduates — let’s call the brother Shawn — Shawn thought he was going to land this glamorous, six-figure job in a Fortune 500 company. That was his fantasy. In reality, he sent out more than 30 resumes, filled out about two dozen electronic applications, and landed a job as a bank teller. Okay, this was not the job he had envisioned, but it was a job. More importantly, it was a job that would allow him to work, save, and finally purchase a car. When Shawn first started working at the bank, he was bumming rides from family members, coworkers, and friends. It was difficult. After a year working at the bank, Shawn finally had enough money to put a sizeable downpayment on a car. I will never forget it, because he was exceedingly proud of his accomplishment. He drove home in a little used Chevy Cavalier.

Of course, I and my friend were over-joyed. Shawn took us for a joy-ride around their small town and even paid for our slushies at the drive-in.

In the middle of the excitement, I noticed who seemed sad and who refused to partake in the joy of smelling that new car smell. Shawn’s mother, even when he first pulled into the driveway, did not crack one smile. She did not congratulate her son. She did not want a joy ride. As a matter of fact, when we returned from the drive-in, these were her words, “Son, don’t…