Taking into account my situation: no money, angry disposition and that I'm hoping for a shitty apartment in the city, coupled my my job skills (read: none) made me realize my ideal position. I decided to be a street gang member.
After noticing graffiti reading "74" in the bathroom of the Panda Express off Michigan Avenue, I realized downtown Chicago seems to be Gangsta Disciple turf. Now, I always considered myself more sympathetic to People as opposed to Folks, but a job's a job, and I filled out the online application. It had a bizarre ethics exam, by the way.
A few days after I had thrown my name into the hat (do-rag?) I got a phone call from my neighborhood's HR rep. His name is Tyrone, but everyone calls him "Rhino Banga," but mostly just "Rhino." He told me all this on the phone, which was good because my expression was akin to confusion and consternation mixed with a profound disappointment in myself that I had not come up with my own street name. I knew I'd have to get this and some other shit done before I had my job interview, which Rhino and I had set for the following week.
This was going to take some effort. First, I needed a handle, one that showed I was tough, but also not so white. I also wanted to build in my affinity for big asses, but that can be difficult to also make tough. In the end I chose "Wyld Copshooter," which conveys I am a joy to be around and have gunned down police officers, possibly wildly. This took me about 30 seconds to decide upon.
After that, it was time to dress for success. Since generally I dress in T-shirts featuring superheroes and jeans from Target, I knew I'd have to step out of my comfort zone a little. I'd need to think baggy. I went to Urban Outfitters, thinking the store was made for this sort of thing, like Uniform City has scrubs. I found out I was wrong, but was thrilled to find out where I can spend $30 on a pre-faded tee. After that let down, I went to a sports apparel shop. My usual sportswear involves knickers, so this would be a stretch. Knowing the GD's colors to be black and silver, I picked up an Oakland Raiders jersey and some baggy sweatpants. I considered getting some boots with fur, but opted for Nikes instead, maintaining this color scheme.
More or less the look I was going for.
That was my first and only day of prep. I spent my remaining time before the interview drinking a variety of red wines and watching Fraiser reruns. In retrospect, this might have put me in the wrong frame of mind.
The big day was at hand. I went into Rhino's office, which was much more decorated than I expected; I didn't even know there were velvet Tupac paintings. Other than that, it was a typical mid-level manager's office:
You're on the right track. Just less honkey.
three-ring binders, a picture of the ho and kids, that sort of thing. So there I was sitting on the opposite side of Rhino's desk (which was pretty nice for plywood) and realized how nervous I was. About being shot.
"So... Brandon..." Rhino starts.
"Oh," I chortle, "you can call me 'Wyld.' That's with a 'y,' like in Wyld Style." I'm already making a good impression!
"Wyld. Okay. So, Wyld..."
"'Copshooter' is the surname to that, by the by," I say, crossing my legs at the knee and smiling as though I'm sharing a private joke with Rhino.
"'Copshooter?'"
"Oh, yes. I will be more than willing to shoot a po-leece man." I even head-bobbed when I said "po-leece." I was acting like David Hyde Pierce.
"Right. So. What makes you want to be a GD?" Rhino doesn't have the street accent I was expecting, so my brain couldn't even process the sentence.
"Huh?"
"What makes you want to be a GD?" Now that I think about it, he isn't dressed so much like a caricature from a rap video, but I chalked that up to his being a little higher on the totem pole.
"Oh. Well, I believe in your business acumen." Now I'm sporting my Alec Guiness circa before Star Wars.
"And what, exactly, do you understand this 'acumen' to be?" Rhino asks. I think he suspects I'm so full of crap I could burst.
"Drug trafficking, robbery, extortion, murder, specifically of Latin Kings, Black P. Stones, et certera." At this point I looked just plain self-satisfied; Wikipedia has always served me well.
Rhino makes a note, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, a grin I now know meant, "this son of a bitch got that off Wikipedia." What he said was, "oh, yeah, that's definitely what we're all about up in he-ah."
Sarcasm: for the fist time, lost on me. "Yup. I might even get a tattoo."
"Really? And what would you get that would show up?"
"An inverted shepard's cane."
"Because you hate Vice Lords," Rhino beams at me.
"Because I hate Vice Lords," I uncross my legs and switch knees. I've done it. I've gone full-on Truman Capote.
Rhino composes himself. "So what got you interested in this little operation of ours?"
Having done my research, it was time to name drop. "I studied the lives of David Barksdale and Larry Hoover and thought they are just great men."
Rhino dons that grin again. "And what job skills do you have that would be any good for this line of work?"
Suddenly, my heart was exploding in my ears. Wait, wait. What would Aaron McGruder write for me to say now? Umm. "I can hide all sorts of things in my body cavities."
Rhino doesn't miss a beat. "And?"
"I can shoot okay while holding my pistol sideways."
"Uh-huh."
At this point, Rhino just lets the silence hang in the room. He doesn't make a note. He doesn't even move. Under his gaze, I start getting nervous, realizing my encyclopedic knowledge is actually just bullshit. "Ummm," I say, waiting for that to fire off a synapse in my brain, which is now far too busy being nervous about either whether or not I will get a job or shot.
Rhino sets down his pencil. "Cracka, I've had enough fun. Get your white ass out of here before I shove something unpleasant in your body cavity."
He might have said more, but I didn't hear it as I was already gone.
So, that's how that application process went. In the end I spent $400 on clothes and made $0. Apparently, designer sweat pants can get expensive.
So I've been thinking, where can I go where I can have a fraternal atmosphere laced with abject senses of duty and fear, where I can shoot people, wear colors and live in deplorable conditions? Next week, I'll see if the Army wants me.
-Black Ranger
"So... Brandon..." Rhino starts.
"Oh," I chortle, "you can call me 'Wyld.' That's with a 'y,' like in Wyld Style." I'm already making a good impression!
"Wyld. Okay. So, Wyld..."
"'Copshooter' is the surname to that, by the by," I say, crossing my legs at the knee and smiling as though I'm sharing a private joke with Rhino.
"'Copshooter?'"
"Oh, yes. I will be more than willing to shoot a po-leece man." I even head-bobbed when I said "po-leece." I was acting like David Hyde Pierce.
"Right. So. What makes you want to be a GD?" Rhino doesn't have the street accent I was expecting, so my brain couldn't even process the sentence.
"Huh?"
"What makes you want to be a GD?" Now that I think about it, he isn't dressed so much like a caricature from a rap video, but I chalked that up to his being a little higher on the totem pole.
"Oh. Well, I believe in your business acumen." Now I'm sporting my Alec Guiness circa before Star Wars.
"And what, exactly, do you understand this 'acumen' to be?" Rhino asks. I think he suspects I'm so full of crap I could burst.
"Drug trafficking, robbery, extortion, murder, specifically of Latin Kings, Black P. Stones, et certera." At this point I looked just plain self-satisfied; Wikipedia has always served me well.
Rhino makes a note, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, a grin I now know meant, "this son of a bitch got that off Wikipedia." What he said was, "oh, yeah, that's definitely what we're all about up in he-ah."
Sarcasm: for the fist time, lost on me. "Yup. I might even get a tattoo."
"Really? And what would you get that would show up?"
"An inverted shepard's cane."
"Because you hate Vice Lords," Rhino beams at me.
"Because I hate Vice Lords," I uncross my legs and switch knees. I've done it. I've gone full-on Truman Capote.
Rhino composes himself. "So what got you interested in this little operation of ours?"
Having done my research, it was time to name drop. "I studied the lives of David Barksdale and Larry Hoover and thought they are just great men."
Rhino dons that grin again. "And what job skills do you have that would be any good for this line of work?"
Suddenly, my heart was exploding in my ears. Wait, wait. What would Aaron McGruder write for me to say now? Umm. "I can hide all sorts of things in my body cavities."
Rhino doesn't miss a beat. "And?"
"I can shoot okay while holding my pistol sideways."
"Uh-huh."
At this point, Rhino just lets the silence hang in the room. He doesn't make a note. He doesn't even move. Under his gaze, I start getting nervous, realizing my encyclopedic knowledge is actually just bullshit. "Ummm," I say, waiting for that to fire off a synapse in my brain, which is now far too busy being nervous about either whether or not I will get a job or shot.
Rhino sets down his pencil. "Cracka, I've had enough fun. Get your white ass out of here before I shove something unpleasant in your body cavity."
He might have said more, but I didn't hear it as I was already gone.
So, that's how that application process went. In the end I spent $400 on clothes and made $0. Apparently, designer sweat pants can get expensive.
So I've been thinking, where can I go where I can have a fraternal atmosphere laced with abject senses of duty and fear, where I can shoot people, wear colors and live in deplorable conditions? Next week, I'll see if the Army wants me.
-Black Ranger
