“The revolution is coming.”
Those are the words of a co-worker I’ll call Dave. It’s his way of saying hi, and today is no different. I’m sitting at a desk and he’s entered the room behind me.
“Hi, Dave,” I say, without looking up.
“The name is Mohammad,” he says.
I turn around in my chair. He’s staring down at me with a look meant to be intimidating, but I can see the slightest of smiles curling the corner of his lip.
“Hello, Mohammad,” I say. “When did you change your name?”
“Since I escaped from the economic and spiritual bondage that your people have imposed on my people.”
“Don’t look at me,” I tell him. “My ancestors fought for the Union.”
“Sh*t,” he says, drawing the word out and pulling up a chair. “I’m talking about the economic situation today. Here I am working like a dog, making a white man rich.”
“I’m working, too. Have you ever thought about starting your own business?”
“Yeah, I have,” he says, warming to the idea. “Me and Jimmy and Melvin talked about putting our chump change together and opening a dance place. Charging ten dollars to get in.”
“Did you do it?”
“Nah. These are black people, man. If some dude gets shot, or a girl gets raped in the back, or some dude on PCP comes running out of the bathroom buck naked, they’d shut us down.”
“It’s tough being a business owner.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What do you think about Obama?” I ask him.
“I have no opinion of him.”
“You don’t?”
“No. How can I have an opinion about someone who doesn’t exist. He’s the devil. He never should have been put in the White House. Damn anti-Christ. People think I’m crazy when I tell them the revolution is coming, but it’s coming. It’s coming.”
