Validated by a Degree

by today's Urban Chameleon contributor Anonymous

A few months back I attended a brunch that a friend of mine was having at her home in Brooklyn. Endless mimosas, salmon cakes, scallops, waffles, sweet potato fries, grits, collard greens and some kind of artichoke pesto situation- damn it was lovely.

People eventually got to talking about what they do for a living versus what they went to school for. It’s very common that people end up doing something completely different from what they studied in school but this one Black woman described how her white male boss when interviewing her for the current real estate position she holds, inquired why she had gone to Harvard Business school since none of the things she described that interest her required such a prestigious degree. She looked him straight in the eye and replied, “So that you could see me as an equal.”

That sat with me as I find that this is the case for a lot of people of color who attend prestigious schools, specifically those whose families are from countries outside the US.

Just yesterday I was catching up with an older white male colleague/ friend of mine who was telling me about his son, a sophomore in college barely passing with D’s and I thought to my self, “WHAT!” There is no way I could have ever gotten away with that let alone feel comfortable enough to be telling anyone! My Chinese friend told me that her parents used to put her and her brother's report cards on the fridge for public exposure. But that’s the difference. As far as we know my white colleague's son is still on track of becoming the next President of the United States.

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Why White Men Love Me: "The Saliva Incident" (episode 2)

by today's Urban Chameleon contributor
Please note that the white man in this photo is not the one involved in this incident

A couple of months ago, my colleagues and I went down to Atlanta to have dinner with one of our major clients: a loaded older white man who always likes to keep the party going. He’s one of those clients that has your boss freeing up the next morning’s schedule because you know that it’s gonna be a long night of kissing ass. Well, we all flew into Atlanta and met the client at one of the many fine dining establishments “the dirty dirty” has to offer. It was a typical business dinner. The client was already at the bar when we got there, sippin’ on his Jack, No Coke. Of course, after dinner he was ready to hit up the next stop—a sleazy, locals jazz club. So there we were, all lined up along yet another bar, damn near midnight still kissing ass hoping to get the nod for our next deal, when the client leaned over to whisper something in my ear but nothing came out. That’s when I felt it. I froze in a state of shock.

Was that what I thought it was?

Ew ew ew ew ew ew

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god

But the client was already up, shaking my boss’s hand, then my colleague’s, and out the door.

“Are you okay?” my colleague asked noticing the horrified look on my face.

“No I need a bottle of gin.” I replied.

As the bartender was pouring I was trying to recover.

“What’s wrong?”

“The client just LICKED MY EAR!”

“What?”

I took the Gin to the head using it more as an antiseptic. “How is it that we all come to ATL, the southern Bastian of Black Professionals, and I’m the one who ends up with an ear full of a White Man’s saliva?”

click here for: episode 1

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Why Do White Men Love Me? (episode 1)

by today’s Urban Chameleon contributor

Honestly, I really think that my name, picture and a tracking device have been distributed in the inner circles of bold white men everywhere because the pale-skinned kind never miss an opportunity to step it to me. And because I'm usually too busy always scoping my environment for "real brothas", which are far and few in my world of corporate finance those white boys are constantly pulling a ninja (in the literal sense) sneak attack rolling up on me move.

For example, I was recently at a bar near Wall Street with a couple of co-workers drowning my sorrows after weeks of plummeting stock prices. It was Happy Hour Thursday so your typical mix of bankers and lawyers were streaming in and out. Naturally, I was only one of three sistas there and no brothas. Just as I was about to resign myself to the inevitable boring workplace small talk a gang of brothas made an appearance. Thank the lawd! Luckily, Mary Kate, my fav red-headed co-worker happens to know the leader of the pack and waved him our way. For a brief second I thought to my self dammmmn where the heck is Mary Kate hangin' out that I'm not? Regardless I had her to thank for the smooth intro that was about to take place.

Just as I'm trying to find the right pitch in my voice, flirt in my face and indicate in my body language that I am completely ready to be taken out on a date the white men musta been scopin' because some how they picked up my radar before the brotha and his crew made it within 10 feet of me. "Hey there, can I buy you a drink?" This white boy asks me popping outta no where! Are you kidding me asshole?! I thought. Instead I replied, "Umm that's okay, I'm good." At this point I am straight breaking my neck to catch a better glimpse of the brotha and his crew who by now stopped along their way to us to talk to some other people they knew. Why was this white man straight cock blockin’! I ended up never speaking to the brothas and walked away to yet another invite from the white man to a black tie event and a damn business card.

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