BLACK AND WHITE

There are people who deal in various shades of gray.
There are people who deal randomly.
There are people who don't deal at all.
And then, since I've been working in the South, I've discovered, there are people who deal only in the black and only in the white.
And, trust me, I don't mean racially.
I mean, "these are the rules" or "this is what I was told" or "so and so told me to jump exactly this high".
I mean BLACK and WHITE.
In an earlier blog I mentioned the over-functionality of the Southern culture. And now I'm discovering this black and white thing. In the beginning, I had divided the South into two camps: the very, very, very nice (that part of the population who over-functioned..'you don't need any stupid ole' directions to the airport, let me drive ya, and I'll hitch home'. O.k.
And then there's the very, very, very passive-aggressive nice (you thought i was going to say stupid didntchya? I was but I changed my mind), that kind of nice that you know they don't really mean.
It's just inbred in the culture. They've gotta say, 'honey' and 'yes, ma'ame' and 'no, sir' and 'bless your heart', but what they're really saying is 'don't fuck with me you summabitch, cause you're workin' on my last good nerve, and this is the way it's done and that's that.'
But there is a definite order to things and most everyone down here seems all wrapped up in the details of something or other. Rules. Process. The way things are done. And they don't mean to be mean (read: stupid) but they can't help it. That's just how they was brung up.
Today for instance: big, huge campaign breaking next week and we're launching it at the home base.
An entire week of all of us execs sending out daily emails, and volunteers greeting people at the door with cupcakes with branded frosting, and pens that shine the logo on the wall, and paper, lots and lots of paper, and TEE-SHIRTS..
Now most people go ape shit over free stuff. Back in the day when I was opening malls and stores and the such and we'd have branded shopping bags, I'd see women as old as 90, cold cock some other octogenarian to the ground to get their shopping bag, and some other 'Debbie Diamond up her Ass I'm so rich' come up and claim to have have three sick kids at home and could she have bags for them too...yeah, like her kids want a fucking shopping bag.
Not too mention celebrities. When we would have designer shit that we gave away at various functions (more on that in later blogs), but suffice to say, I don't care if you're Goldie or Oprah, you are getting your free shit.
O.k. back to the South and the TEE-SHIRTS.
"So only employees get the TEE-SHIRTS. You have to see their employee badge and then they can get a TEE-SHIRT. So we'll hand out the paper with all these announcements on them (useless) and you hand out the TEE-SHIRTS."
Now keep in mind that the TEE-SHIRTS, for TEE-SHIRTS, are pretty nice..cool branded color, cool design, rolled up and tied up with a branded colored ribbon. And all the sizes are in different marked boxes with huge L-XL-1XL-2XL-3XL-4XL-and yes, because we are in the South, 5XL and let me tell you, no one asked if there was a difference between men's and women's sizes, because let me tell you, there weren't.
O.k. Black and White.
Remember TEE-SHIRTS only for employees, everyone gets two pieces of paper.
People start coming in and this events Nazi with a sweet, yet blaring southern accent starts barking out her instructions to her first victims (keep in mind with that passive-aggressive tone to her voice too)
"Hey, Miss Vivian..here's your sheet on this and here's your sheet on that, and then show your badge to Mr. John over there and git yuuur TEE-SHIRT, kay sugah?"
Keep in mind i'm standing exactly two feet away from Miss Thang. So Miss Vivian of course, looks at me, who's badge is proudly displayed on her massive chest and pushes it in my face to prove she's an employee and says "Mr. John I think I'll take a 4XXL" and I think to myself, "Don't say it. Don't say it" and what comes out is, "Here's one just for you, and don't forget to wear it tomorrow." Whew! That was close.
And Miss Vivian leaves just in time for me to hear the Nazi Southern Belle, purr, "Are you a contractor"? And i swear to God, there was instant silence, like the guy had been asked, "Scuse me Sugah, you a leper?"
Well, the poor man WAS a contractor, and then Miss Thang says, "Oh, i'm so sorrrrry for you for that, but I can give you these two pieces of paper.." she looks at me, "But Mr. John, he does not get a TEE-SHIRT!"
Fuck! What am i supposed to do with that? Mr. Downhome kinda looks at me, ashamed like, and I shrug with "I'm sorry man, my hands are tied here, you're a contractor, you are bad!" He leaves dangling his two pieces of paper from trembling fingertips. I almost cried.
And then it occurs to me. I'm not an employee either. I'm a fucking contractor. I'm Miss Thang's boss, but I am a contractor.
"Hey! I shouldn't have a TEE-SHIRT. I'm a contractor."
"Haw! Haw! Haw!" she shrieked at me. "You're right. And if I had my way, you wouldn't git one neither...Haw! Haw! Haw!" Like she's just kidding. But we all know she's not kidding. She wants to rip my TEE-SHIRT right of my body. She hates me!
Black and White. And the only gray for many down here is that which is forced down their throat. They hate it, but they'll smile the whole time they stick in the shiv.