Food For Thought

Pathetic Racists: Entry to Top Ten Stories prompt issued by Tim Sabo

This piece was inspired by a prompt for The Top Ten Stories by Timothy J. Sabo and is part of a series of fictional pieces which aims to explore some current social issues. This one focuses on the prompt: Pathetic Racists.

Tom Gibson looked at the clock on the wall across from his cubicle, then at his watch. Perfectly synced.

It was 8:35. Still early enough to change his mind about the promotion he was in line for at the architectural firm he’d worked at for nearly twenty years.

This wasn’t his first promotion by a long shot. But, it was the big one. Senior Partner.

Up against two other candidates, Tom couldn’t decide if the ambivalence he was feeling was a sign or a red flag of some sort or simply a waning of passion for the job he was thrilled to land soon after graduating from UCLA.

He was always fascinated by design. By how buildings…got built. Never one to take his success for granted, he busted his ass, burning the candle at both ends in order to earn the respect of his peers, which he did. Along with numerous awards and other industry accolades.

But all those long days and nights took a toll on an already shaky marriage. His wife found someone with more time on his hands and that, as they say, was that.

Tom didn’t put up much of a fight. He was ambivalent about his marriage, too. He knew what was coming. Perhaps, being of a solitary nature, he welcomed it.

After his wife left, on those nights when he arrived home very late, which was more often than not, he’d eat a hastily made sandwich, uncork a bottle of decent red and watch the food shows he’d tape on The Food Network and PBS.

Tom was fascinated by the machinations required to create a beautiful, healthful, plate of food. In that, he saw a connection between the culinary and architecture worlds. The perfect melding of form and function.

Sighing, Tom sipped his take-out coffee and listened to the phone call going on in the next cube. It’s not that he wanted to listen, but his cube mate was almost whispering, something that Javier Washington, never did. Always boisterous and full of fun, Tom’s friend Javi wasn’t the whispering type.

Only a year apart in age, Tom and Javier joined the firm at the same time.

He waited til his friend ended the call and then stood up and looked over their shared wall.

Javi was slumped in his chair staring at his monitor which he’d neglected to turn on.

Tom snapped his fingers. Javi looked up at him.

“What’s up buddy?”

Javi shrugged. “I’m not feeling it today, is all.”

Tom experienced a moment of dread. “Is something wrong with Gina?”

Javier shook his head. “No, no. My lady is fine, thank God.”

“Then what’s going on? You know you can tell me anything.”

Javi picked up a paper clip and bent it out of shape. “I’m out,” he said.

“Out? What the fuck does that mean?” Tom pressed.

Javi tossed the paper clip aside. “I’m no longer you’re competition, dude.”

Tom left his cube and walked into Javi’s. He sat down on the “visitor’s” chair.

“First of all,” said Tom, “you deserve this shot. In fact, you deserve the whole fucking thing. You’re more senior partner material than I’ll ever be. In fact, the more I think about this promotion, the less I want it.”

Javi ran a hand through his thick, curly hair. “Well, you’d better want it because you’re gonna get it, my friend. You’ll finally be able to get that boat you’ve been coveting.”

“Fuck the boat,” Tom replied. “Half the time I don’t know what the hell I want. I wanted a wife, then I didn’t.”

“That was messed up,” Javi agreed.

Tom looked down at his shoes. Black. Spit-shined. Then his head jerked up.

“Wait…what did you mean by you’re ‘out’?”

Javi waited a few seconds before answering. “Peterson said the board decided that I’m not a good fit for the gig.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Javi put a finger to his lips. “Tom, keep your voice down, dude. I still need to keep this job, promotion or no promotion. I got a family and they got needs.”

“Come on, Javi. Fuck that. With your experience you’d get hired at any shop in the country.”

“Yeah. Like I’m gonna pack up the wife and kids and leave. Doesn’t work like that, Tom.”

“That’s all he said? That you’re not a good fit? No other explanation?”

In response, Javi shrugged out of his suit jacket and rolled up a shirt sleeve.

“See this?”

Momentarily dumbstruck, Tom just nodded.

“C’mon, dude. You’re not stupid. Open those baby blues of yours and take a good look! I’m a brown man. THAT’S why I’m not a good fit. My mama was a spic and my daddy’s a darkie. What else do you need to know?”

“Wait just a minute,” scoffed Tom. “Perkins & Company isn’t a racist employer, Javi. No…no…it has to be something else.”

“Now you’re fucking with me, Tom. I know you’re not that naïve. How many people of color do you think work here? Any idea?”

Tom just looked at his friend.

“Approximately eight percent of the staffers here are brown folks. With that stat, you think they’re gonna make one a senior partner?”

Tom shook his head. “Then, I’m out, too. Fuck the job.”

Javi smiled ruefully. “Don’t be an asshole. Take it. You still need to eat.”

“I don’t have a wife and kids to support. I’ll survive. Plus, I have a little saved up.”

Playfully, Javi punched Tom in the shoulder. “And then what are you gonna do? Sit on your ass all day? Watch Netflix? What?”

Tom thought a minute and then, like the dawn of a new day, his expression changed. In mere seconds, he had an epiphany. In a cubicle in downtown Chicago.

“I can go to culinary school.”

Javi barked out a laugh. “What the fuck!? What? You wanna be Bobby Flay? Gordon Ramsay?”

“Hell no,” Tom replied. “Julia Child!”

Both men busted up. Wiping his eyes, Javi said, “Whatever happens, we’re still buddies, right?”

“Always,” said Tom. “By the way, what’s with Jorgensen? He’s still in, right?”

“He’ll never get it. Even though they hushed it up, don’t you remember that thing with the temp?”

“Oh…right. Dumb schmuck. So, it’s me, myself, and I.”

“Looks that way, buddy,” Javi said.

“Look, I’m not being all humble here, but it should go to you, Jav. You’re the one with the star power and the dazzling teeth.”

Their laughter was interrupted by a young woman who stuck her head in Javi’s cube. “Tom, Mr. Peterson is ready for you.”

Tom checked his watch. 9:30. He and Javi had been talking for nearly an hour.

Reluctantly, Tom got up. “I’ll be right there.”

The courier left and Tom put a hand on Javi’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

Javi shrugged. “Hey, if not me, then you. Now go kick some ass.”

Tom nodded. “Maybe that’s just what I’ll do.”

Minutes later, Tom sat across from Brad Peterson, one of the firm’s founding members and a noted ass wipe. Everyone knew he kept a bottle of Maker’s Mark in his desk drawer and took several pulls from it throughout the day. The Altoids he popped like M&Ms did little to disguise the smell of booze on his breath.

Peterson slapped his hands together. “So, Tom, what are we thinking?”

Tom’s expression was neutral. “What do you mean?”

Peterson’s forced joviality shifted. “Uh, about becoming senior partner?”

“So, are you saying I got it? Made the cut?”

Peterson’s confusion was evident. “You’ve been a great asset here, Tom.”

“So, I’m the right fit?”

Peterson frowned. “Are we playing word games here or discussing one of the most important moments in your professional career?”

Tom cut to the chase. “I know Jorgensen is cut, but what about Javi? Javier?”

“…Javier?”

“That’s right,” Tom said. “He deserves this shot. Even more so than me, and I’m not hesitant to admit it.”

Peterson squirmed in his seat. “He’s..”

Tom cut him off. “Not the right fit, correct?”

“Well, now that you put it like that.”

Tom leaned forward. “Because he’s a person of color, isn’t that so?”

Peterson started to sweat. “Tom, I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

“Because you know exactly what I’m implying. That you and the rest of the board are fucking racists. You don’t want a brown man dirtying up your golf course. You do still play, right, Brad?”

Peterson tried for a reply and failed.

Tom shook his head, incredulous. “Why I didn’t see this before shames me.”

He pointed at Peterson. “And shame on you, you ignorant fuck!”

Peterson picked up the handset of his phone.

Tom waved him off. “Put that down. What are you going to do? Call security on me? No need. I fucking quit.”

Peterson dropped the phone.

“Quit! After nearly twenty years, you’re giving up the chance of a lifetime?”

Tom got up. “Your lifetime, maybe. Not mine. And if I leave, you’ll have to make Javi a senior partner. No one else here can take on that role as he can, and you damned well know it.”

Tom made for the door. Just as he was about to leave, Peterson spits his parting shot.

“Go ahead and quit. What do you think you’ll do with yourself now?”

Tom opened the door. “Oh, I’ll cook something up.”

Geoffrey Gevalt; Helen Hensell; Sudarsan Karki-SuperSudar; Logan Silkwood; Annie Trevaskis; Uwem Daniels; JF Danskin; PJ Jackelman; Timothy J. Sabo