The first time I spotted her, I was working at this big grocery store in the East End. Ottawa is a boring town but fellas like me know how to make our own fun. The key is having an open mind and seizing opportunities when they come your way. Working as overnight security isn't the most glamorous job in the universe but it does pay the bills. I'm in my third year as a Criminology student at Carleton University, so I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Anyhow, I was walking through the aisles, bored as hell, when I spotted her. This curvaceous, light-skinned Black woman clad in a long flowery summer dress and dark blue hijab. She was Somali, and in her early thirties. I saw her arguing with Evelyn, the old White woman who works as the overnight cashier. Evelyn is racist as hell and always gives a hard time to minority customers. I complained about her to her boss, but it only got me in trouble with the security company. That's life in Canada for you.
Anyhow, I approached the scene to get a better look. The attractive Somali lady was arguing about something with the old bat, who didn't speak a lick of French. I was born in the island of Haiti and even after living outside of it for most of my life, I still speak both Parisian French and my native Haitian Creole. I casually walked over to the self-check-out stand and offered my services. The old White lady shot me a frustrated look and asked me to "deal with her". Now, helping customers with the machines and their purchases isn't a function of overnight security staff but in this case, I was okay with making an exception. I helped the Somali lady with the bilingual machine, and helped her scan her stuff. I even helped her put them in the green bags she bought, and helped her load them in the cart. She smiled at me and thanked me, then asked me where I was from. I proudly told her that I was a native of Haiti. She smiled and shot a dark look at the old White female cashier, saying that she ought to be fired. I smiled as I seconded that opinion. My job would be much easier if I didn't have to deal with the likes of Evelyn on a nightly basis.
The Somali lady pushed her cart to the exit, and I accompanied her to the parking lot. Before she left, she asked me my name. Jacques, I told her. She grinned and introduced herself as Mona, before offering her hand for me to shake. Now, if you know anything about conservatively attired Muslim women who wear the hijab, you'd be as shocked as I was by her action. Nevertheless, I shook Mona's hand, and wished her a goodnight. I watched her go, mesmerized. Black women are the most beautiful creatures on God's green Earth. Unfortunately for me, I'm not Black enough for some of them and that's a damn shame. As I mentioned before, I was born in the island of Haiti to a Haitian father and Hispanic mother. My mom came from the Dominican Republic. I stand six feet two inches tall, slightly chubby, with light brown skin, curly Black hair and light brown eyes. People are always asking me if I'm mixed but I always tell them that I am Black. My parents, Louis Bernard and Maria Fernandez-Bernard live in the town of Montreal, Quebec. We moved from Haiti to Canada eleven years ago. I have a thing for Black women, especially the exotic-looking ones from east Africa. I'm talking about Eritrean women, Ethiopian women, Somali women and Djibouti women. Unfortunately for me, these ladies tend to stick with men from their own cultures. That's a damn shame if you ask me.
Anyhow, the night went by and I barely paid attention to the comings and goings of the men and women inside the grocery store. We have a lot of thieves who come by at night. One of them especially irks me. A short, blonde-haired White woman in her forties who likes to steal cheese. She's usually accompanied by a male accomplice, a tall and slim, dark-haired Caucasian guy on a bike. I've busted these two numerous times and they still come into the grocery store to steal. During the two months since I started working security at this grocery store, I busted a lot of thieves and almost all of them were White. Isn't that a kick in the butt? The clerks and cashiers inside the store are always weary of minorities because the Vanier area of eastern Ottawa is a tough neighborhood but I've yet to catch a Black person or a Chinese person stealing from the store. It's mostly White folks doing the stealing. Kind of turns racial profiling on its head, doesn't it?
I work the 11 P.M. to 7 A.M. shift at the grocery store, and I only chose this shift because the store is conveniently located ten minutes from my apartment. Otherwise I wouldn't bother with this shit. Finally, it's seven in the morning. If I leave the store one minute early, that bitch Evelyn is going to report me to the store manager, and I'm going to get in trouble. Again. I still need this job to pay my rent and groceries, so I can't afford another screw-up. I walk to my apartment, praying that my new roommate, a Burundi guy named Valentine, will let me sleep. He knows that I work overnight and sleep in the morning. If he keeps preventing me from sleeping, I'm going to have to get rid of him. Especially since he doesn't seem to do his groceries too often or pay rent on time. The guy's got parasitic tendencies, for real. Anyhow, I go home and for once, valentine isn't moving around and I get a nice, deep sleep. I wake up around 1 P.M. feeling well-rested. I head to the kitchen and eat some leftover Shawarma beef sandwiches and wash them down with orange juice. I shower, then get dressed and head to school.
