2 comments/ 6384 views/ 1 favorites A Day In A Black Man's Life By: Samuelx Tonight, I am thankful to God that I am in one piece. The past seventy two hours have been really tough. My name is Stephen. A big and tall young Black man living in the town of Ottawa, province of Ontario, the Capital region of Canada. The last Saturday in July 2012 I went to the Saint Laurent Shopping Center bright-eyed and smiling. Why? Only one reason, to shop for a certain young Haitian lady named June. It was her birthday that Sunday. About two months ago I met this beautiful young Haitian woman at the Cineplex. The day I met her I had the blues because I'd gotten unceremoniously dumped by this pretty Nova Scotian gal named Jessica Lynn a week ago. It was tough going to the movies solo after going out with the same young lady for so long. Still, a man has to move on, you know? Life waits for no man. Anyhow, I met June and she truly seemed like a breath of fresh air. I was going to see the movie The Dictator, and bumped into her at the ticket counter. Apparently she was going to see the same movie and we ended up seeing it together. We walked out of the movie theater together, talking and laughing. We had a great time. We exchanged numbers and began seeing each other shortly after that. That's how much of the summer went. June and I began seeing each other, just going to the movies together along with restaurants, parks and museums. We got along just fine, and I thought June and I might really have a chance to start something. What can I say? She really seemed different from the kind of females who usually come into my life. There were so many things about her that I liked. I was finally going out with a chick who was into the same kind of movies I was, and liked having me around. Also, June seems to like the brothers. She wasn't bitter and angry like a lot of sisters I ran into. Oh, and she liked to go Dutch in movies and restaurants. Half the time I paid, the rest of the time she paid. I was a bit surprised by that but I grew to appreciate her for it. What can I say? This chick was different. A lot of the Black females in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, are kind of negative. They don't believe in the brothers and think men of other races are made out of gold. The only times Black women in the Canadian capital notice a brother is when they see him walking around with a female who isn't Black. I had done the interracial dating thing, alright? I went out with a neurotic and kind of morose White chick from Britain named Rosie, and we fizzled out during the summer of 2011. I briefly saw this Indian chick named Parvati, and it didn't end well because she thought I was having an affair with her Chinese lady friend. No amount of talking or protesting would convince my favorite Indian chick that there was nothing going on between me and her Chinese girlfriend. So I gave up. I moved on, though I was a bit hurt by all that. I also went out with this Nigerian chick named Ava, and her mean temper and suspicious nature caused the downfall of anything we might have been together. Don't get me wrong, Ava was tall, fine and pretty, and she had degrees up the yin yang but she was also insufferably mean and loud. Thanks but no thanks. In one year, I've been with White British, Nigerian, Indian and whatever else. Women are insane, man. If you treat them good, they can't handle it. If you treat them like dirt, then all of a sudden you're a chick magnet. I swear to God that's the truth. Maybe a lot of guys are jerks because jerks and abusive men are irresistible to women. Maybe deep down women want to be abused and treated like shit. I don't know. You'd have to ask God, or the American Psychiatric Association. The answers to such questions are a little bit above my pay grade. Anyhow, Saturday I dressed up nice and fresh, then went to the mall to shop for June's gift. This sexy Haitian sister is a Leo and women born under that sign are known to be a picky bunch. I'm the cool, easygoing Aquarius so I adapt quickly to new situations. I went to the bookstore and bought her an Afro-centric romance novel with some erotica thrown in. I got her some naughty chocolate from the adult video store, plus a twenty-dollar gift certificate. All in all, I spent forty five bucks on her. In the past, some have accused me of being cheap with the females in my life but I say I only spend money on those who are worth it. And as I walked through the Saint Laurent Mall in downtown Ottawa on the last Saturday of July 2012, I thought June was worth it. Sunday came, and I went to this bar slash restaurant near Elgin to meet with June and her friends. My favorite Haitian gal was dressed to the nines. Bright red blouse, short White skirt and high heels. She looked really hot, with the booty popping in that short skirt. June hugged me as I came in, then introduced me to her friends. An Arab chick, a Black chick and a White chick. Later we were joined by a gay Black dude and a tomboyish White chick. The evening was off to a nice start. We were all talking and laughing. June's lady friends had a lot of questions about me, but I played it cool. Where am I from? I'm a Haitian guy raised in Boston, Massachusetts. Where do I go to school? Carleton University. How long have I known June? About two months. What are my intentions with her? None of your damn business, said with a smile. Oh, yeah. I was cool under pressure. Yeah, everything was really cool. June and I took a couple of pictures together, and all was going good. I paid for my bill separately because June said her friends had her back. Sounds good to me. My order came to a total of twenty five dollars. I paid thirty, giving the waitress, a lovely White chick with brownish hair and hazel eyes, a nice tip. I've worked crappy jobs before. Hell, I'm an international student from the City of Boston studying at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa. As an American student, I get charged double what they charge Canadian students. Fun, isn't it? I work as a Security guard to make some extra cash. I know all about crappy jobs where you deal with lousy people. Anyhow, when the bill came, June paid with a hundred given to her by her friends. I think her order came up to like sixty dollars or something. She took back forty, and gave the waitress a single DOLLAR as a tip. When June's friends protested, saying that she should give more, she scoffed, quite loudly saying that she seldom gave more than a dollar as a tip. This the waitress took without saying a word, though I could tell the young lady was wounded. I felt bad for her. As the evening wound down, everybody got ready to bounce. June and her friends were going to a casino in the nearby City of Gatineau, Province of Quebec. I had to work as overnight Security for a twenty-four-seven grocery store on nearby Rideau Street. We walked out, June gave me the briefest of hugs then took off. She got into a cab with her girlfriends and her Arab girlfriend's brother and they drove off. I stood there, deep in thought. I learned a lot about June that night. She wasn't very affectionate with me in front of her girlfriends. She was deliberately vague when they asked her about us, if there is an us. Oh, and I really didn't like the stuck-up way she treated the waitress whom she didn't tip well. The look on that waitress face just about broke my heart. I felt good that I gave her a five-dollar tip but June's behavior was....yeah. I didn't like it, let's leave it at that. I went to work that night feeling weird. The chick I had been seeing introduced me to her friends and we had a blast at her birthday party. So why did I feel so damn sad? Anyhow, the next day, Monday, I woke up around one in the afternoon because I was really tired after working as the grocery's store Security guy from 11 P.M. to 7 A.M. I woke up, showered and took care of business. Around two, I got dressed and decided to grab a quick bite at Soleil Des Iles, this quaint little Haitian restaurant located about a mile from my apartment in the Vanier sector of Ottawa. I was walking down there when I got a call from June. She seemed giddy, and I asked her how her time at the casino went. She told me she had a good time, and how much she liked both the erotica book and the naughty chocolate bits that I gave her. I was happy to hear that. I asked her what she thought of the gift certificate I gave her. She told me she couldn't find the gift certificate in the gift bag I got her, and that she was gonna call back the restaurant from the night before to see if they had it. For some reason, that really bothered me. First, she wasn't very affectionate with me around her friends. Second, she was really, really stuck up in how she treated that waitress, whom she didn't even tip right. Third, she lost the gift certificate I got her? Wow. Um, what's wrong with this broad? I kept my thoughts to myself. June excused herself on the phone, saying she'd call me back. To be honest, I really didn't feel like talking to her today because I might say something I'd regret. I went to the Haitian restaurant, ate my meal, and I was kind of forlorn because I was deep in thought. I thought about June. What's going on with her? Things were so promising until last night. What the heck is wrong with her? I am friendly and generous with friends, family and potential lovers. However, I do not like to feel like I'm not appreciated or that I'm being played for a fool. No way no how. I walked back to my apartment and checked the red bag in which I brought the gift bag to June at the restaurant Sunday night. It was empty. No letter containing the gift certificate. Ergo, I gave it to June. She should have it. So, she somehow lost it. Wow. That's....that's really not cool. Anyhow, I got on bus number eighteen leaving Vanier for Saint Laurent Mall and caught the number four bus going to Carleton University at Hurdman Station. While on the bus, I thought about June. What is going on with her? Why is she doing this? Things were going so well between us. Why is she fucking up things now? Women! I half-heartedly called her back and honestly, I was kind of relieved that she didn't pick up because she wasn't around, or didn't feel like it. Whatever. I sat on the bus, deep in thought. Well, something pulled me out of my reverie. A White guy sitting two seats behind me sat with an older White lady and he kept going on and on about Black Americans, Black Canadians and Africans and how stupid we were. Upon hearing that, I got mad, and told him to shut his racist mouth. The old White woman who was with him told me to butt out of their conversation. I shrugged and said whatever. When I got off the bus, the White dude seemed to suddenly find his balls. He hollered at me. I stopped. We stood less than two feet apart from each other. He asked me if I was accusing him of being a racist. I shrugged. Hell yes I was accusing him of being a racist. He said if I did it again he'd kick my ass. I told him that I was standing right in front of him. He seemed taken aback by that, but didn't touch me. I should mention I'm six-foot-two by 250 pounds and he's around five-foot-nine by one seventy. Whatever. A fight is a fight and I'm always ready for those. When he didn't meet my challenge, I said whatever and walked away. Slowly. He kept a respective distance behind me, but followed me, with his mother or very old girlfriend or whatever in tow. Dude followed me to the campus library, and gave my description to someone on his phone. Oh, coward White dude calling for backup because he can't fight Mister Big And Tall Black Man by himself? I decided to play it smart. I wanted to kick his ass but I didn't want to get kicked out of Carleton University. So I called campus Security. The lady working dispatch told me a female officer would meet me outside the library. I waited, and ran into this cool guy I remembered from one of my classes. We made small talk before I excused myself to report the incident to the campus safety officer. The officer in question was Miss Brianna, a short, and very pretty blonde-haired Caucasian female who looked snappy in her dark blue uniform. Anyhow, I told her in great detail what happened. She told me that because the dude followed me into the campus library, they would be able to see him in the Security cameras. I nodded, and she told me she'd do her best. I wasn't too hopeful. It's a big school, and I wasn't even sure if Mister Racist White Dude or His Mama went to the school. Half an hour later, Brianna the cute blonde pixie officer came back, and told me she located the racist White dude who threatened me, and his mother. While in the Security office he did admit to threatening me, but blamed it on frustration. Apparently, he was a student at Carleton University and all that. Oh, okay. That so does not make me feel better. They told him to stay away from me, after taking his name and address. The officer asked me if I liked how things turned around. I looked at the cute blonde Security officer and told her she was my hero. She smiled brightly, told me she tried, and then walked away. I smiled as she walked away. It was my first time smiling since June's birthday at the restaurant Sunday night. Just another day in the life of a young Haitian-American man in Ottawa. June, the pretty Haitian gal I like doesn't seem to feel me the same way, either that or she is acting very strange. Oh, and I've had to deal with a racist White dude who was clearly used to getting away with insulting minorities. I guess he wasn't expecting to deal with a Boston Brahmin this Monday afternoon. I'm just killing time on the second floor of the Carleton University library until it's time for me to go to work. Just another day. How was your day? A Day In A Black Man's Life Ch. 02 God, I thank you that I'm alive. Those were the words in my head at two thirty in the morning on Tuesday, August 7, 2012. I was working an overnight shift as security for one of the biggest parking lots in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Clad in a black security jacket, black pants and boots, I patrolled the five floors of the parking lot, looking for vagrants and dumbasses who liked to spray graffiti on the walls, that sort of thing. My name is Stephen, and I'm a big and tall young Black man of Haitian descent living in the Capital region of Canada. I moved there two years ago from the City of Boston, Massachusetts, where I lived from the summer of 2009 to the beginning of 2010. I consider myself Haitian-American, a son of the world's first independent Black republic raised in the world's mightiest nation. There are so many different stories I could tell you but this is one I feel I MUST share. Anyhow, I was working the overnight shift, which for me began at ten in the evening and would end at five o'clock in the morning. Working security in the Canadian capital for twelve bucks an hour so I can pay for my tuition at Carleton University, where I study Law. The shift began normally enough. I got the keys from the security guard in an adjacent parking lot, and got into the security booth in my lot. I called the company to sign in. I have to do this every hour otherwise they'll think I've left the site or something happened to me. Anyway, after patrolling all five floors, I decided to chill a little bit. The good thing about the company phone inside the booth is that it can make international calls. My security company has holdings across Canada and America, that's why. Anyhow, I decided to kill time by calling my lady friend Kiah. Kiah is a tall, curvy and fine African-American gal I met a while back on this website dedicated to the Fetish Lifestyle. For kinky people, that site is like Facebook. I joined it and met quite a few cool people who liked the whips and chains lifestyle as much as I do. Much more to BDSM than whips and chains, by the way. Much more. Kiah taught me that. We've become friends and she's one of my Facebook pals as well. I called her at her apartment in Maryland and we talked for a good forty five minutes. I write erotic fiction stories and post them on the largest free website dedicated to erotic literature. I am known there as Samuel X. Kiah and I talked about life, about my latest stories, and how bored she was becoming with the Fetish Lifestyle. Kiah is a dominant gal who likes to dominate men, especially Black men. I haven't had the pleasure of experimenting with her because she lives in Maryland, USA, while I live in Ontario, Canada, but I sure hope to someday. Maybe when I get everything squared away financially and socially and eventually return to the United States of America. I came to Ontario because of difficult economic times as well as personal troubles. I was looking for a fresh start and Canada seemed like the right place for that at the time. I talked to Kiah for a good while, and she regaled me with tales of her sexual adventures with her latest submissive. A big Black guy who loves dominant women of color with strap-on dildos. Wow. Talk about kinky. I love listening to tales of Kiah's adventures because the lady has a sexy voice and she's very kinky and open-minded. Besides, I had time to kill in the lonely booth in that gigantic parking lot in downtown Ottawa. We talked for a good forty five minutes, then I wished her goodnight. Next I called my cousin Yves in New York to check up on him. We hadn't spoken in a while. He was doing good. I called June, this young Haitian-Canadian woman I had been seeing. We've been going through a rough patch lately and I'm trying to mend things. She was asleep so I left her a message. We're supposed to go to the movies this coming Friday or Saturday or something. Around midnight another security guard came to the site. An Indian guy named Singh. He's a stocky guy with short hair and a goatee, in his early twenties. Not very talkative but decent enough, I say. I let him into the booth, greeted him and we talked a bit. Singh seemed to have a lot on his mind that night. We talked about the shooting at a Sikh Temple in Wisconsin, where a racist White guy opened fire on innocent Indians who were merely practicing their faith. The racist White dude got arrested not long after, and according to the police, he was linked to a White supremacy group. They're calling the act an incident of domestic terrorism. A White man who's a terrorist! Who knew? To listen to the racially biased media, only people of color can be terrorists. White men and White women are always upstanding citizens. Give me a fucking break! Singh and I smiled at that. No matter how many innocent people get killed by racist White guys, the media will always think of criminals and terrorists as non-White. Even though a White woman named Colleen Larose was arrested for terrorism somewhere in the States after she converted to Islam and plotted to kill some people in Europe. She even bragged to her accomplices that her having blonde hair, blue eyes and White skin would greatly aid their cause as they went about their mission of terrorism. Why can't the media admit to itself that the new face of terrorism worldwide is White? Anyhow, I got up and went on patrol. Around two o'clock, I stood on the uppermost floor of the building, the fifth floor, and gazed at the City of Ottawa below. The gigantic parking lot I was looking after was situated near an old church, a bar and a bunch of clubs. The nightlife in this part of town was quite active, even during a holiday weekend. Nice. I smiled as a tall, sexy redheaded lady with a visible big bum walked into the pub with a tall, fine brother. Why do some brothers have all the luck? I don't know. Anyhow, my attention was divided between looking at the nightlife below and reading this book, StarGate : The Barque of Heaven by Suzanne Wood. I loved the science fiction series StarGate growing up and I enjoy the novels, long after the original series and its spin-offs ended. As I stood there, a voice hailed me. I looked up and saw a short, round white woman dressed in black. A closer look told me she was a police officer. She asked me how I was doing. I said I was fine, wondering what she was doing there. She asked me why I was doing here. I told her that I was security. She asked me what I had in my hand. I calmly showed her that it was a book. By now she stood six or seven feet from me. I looked at her, and told her what security company I was with. She asked to see some identification, even though I was in full uniform. I tried not to roll my eyes and took out my Ontario Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services licence. I'm licensed both as a Private Investigator and as a Security Guard in the Province of Ontario but it's easier to find work as a security guard than as a private investigator. Especially in Ottawa. The policewoman took my license and called someone in her police radio, giving them my information to check. A moment later, a second police officer arrived. A male, in his early to mid-thirties, with black hair, white skin and dark eyes. The chubby policewoman told him that I claimed to be security. I sighed. Claimed to be security? I'm in uniform, and I just showed her my licence. What more do these people want from me? They're wearing their police uniforms and shields so I assume they're cops. See what I mean? I told the male cop that I was a security guard assigned to patrol this parking lot and I did it every night with my partner. He scoffed when I said the word partner. One second later, guess who showed up? Mr. Singh, the young Indian security guard whom I left in the security booth downstairs. He'd begun patrolling and made his way up the floors. Upon seeing him, the two police officers relaxed. Here comes my partner, I said. The chubby policewoman looked at Singh in his uniform. He wore the khaki shirt and black pants with the red company logo emblazed upfront. I wore a black security uniform, with the company logo upfront and on my epaulettes ( I ranked higher than Singh ). The policewoman said that she couldn't tell that I was a security guard because the symbols and logos on my dark uniform weren't as obvious as those on Singh's paler uniform. Singh told them that both uniforms were official with the company, the black uniform and the beige one. The male police officer looked at us, said a half-hearted "sorry man" and walked away with his partner. I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I was holding. Singh and I shook our heads and went back downstairs. For the rest of the night I sat in the booth while Singh patrolled. Seniority had its perks. That's what I told myself. Truth is, somebody from the building we were watching called the cops because they saw a black man walking around. It didn't matter that I wore a security uniform and got hired to protect the building from vagrants. The cops showed up because a black man was seen on the premises. Hmmm. I love Canada. As I sat there and ran the events of the night over in my head, I realized that I should count myself lucky. Think of this scenario, if you will. Cops show up after being told there's a big black man on the premises. I'm dressed in black, it's nighttime, and I've got something in my hand. A book. Yeah, I could have been shot. I can just imagine the headline on the Metro or the Ottawa Sun newspapers the next day. Unarmed Black man shot by Ottawa cops was overnight security guard. Stephen V. International student from the United States taking Law at local University. Awesome. Yet another unarmed, innocent black man shot by racist, overzealous, trigger-happy cops. God, I'm lucky to be alive. At five in the morning, the security company sent a car to drop me off at my apartment in the East End of Ottawa because the buses aren't running around that time. I went home, took off my shirt, pants, socks and underwear, and fell in bed. I wouldn't wake up until noon on Tuesday, August 7, 2012. I got home at 5 : 17 A.M. that day. In my lifetime, I've run into so many bad people. Sociopaths seem to plague me the most. Men and women without conscience. I can spot them, mainly because my dad is definitely one of them. Same goes for my sister Alice and several of my aunts. Whatever makes them the way they are, some of it must be in my blood because spotting them is like telling red from blue for me. Hell, my roommate Leonard is one of them. He's charming and friendly when you first meet him, but inside he's colder than the Arctic and has no more conscience than the average rattlesnake. I run into a lot of them at work, at school and everywhere else. The trick is to look in their eyes. There's something missing in those eyes of theirs. I saw something very much like that in the male police officer's eyes that night. He arrived with his hand on his holster and gave me the kind of look I reserve for cockroaches. No humanity in those eyes of his. Yep, a sociopath in a police uniform. Just my luck. Had he seen me before the chubby policewoman, I might be in a body bag right now. Either that or fighting for my life at Civic Hospital or Ottawa General Hospital, where ironically I used to work security. How long will my luck hold out as I deal with sociopaths, racists and misandrists ( man-haters ) in the Canadian capital? I feel like a mongoose thrown in a cage to fight serpents. Today, the mongoose beat a rattlesnake. Yesterday it beat a king cobra. How long until the cruel souls who enjoy blood sport throw the poor little animal against a boa? How long until I run into a situation where for all my smarts, strength and good luck, I can't overcome? I honestly don't know. Say a prayer for me, will you?