Black or White

Black. White. Yellow. Brown.

“And I told about equality and it's trueEither you're wrong or you're right, hee

But if you're thinking about my baby

It don't matter if you're black or white, hoo

…

Protection for gangs, clubs, and nationsCausing grief in human relations

It's a turf war on a global scale

I'd rather hear both sides of the taleSee, it's not about races, just places, faces

Where your blood comes from, it's where your space is

I've seen the bright get duller

I'm not gonna spend my life being a color

“Black or White” by Michael Jackson

Tuesday morning, at 8:15 a.m., after the Bank Holiday Monday, the office is eerily quiet. There is no going back now on working from home after Covid because managers sang praises on how well the arrangement had worked and they are not going to admit productivity has gone down because we all know what we do from 9 to 11 – everyone is either taking their kids to school, walking the dogs, doing their laundry or shopping discounted food the moment the supermarkets are open (you have to be early to beat the pensioners, they physically wait outside for the shops to open!). We all know how well we “work” at home, especially the sneaky ones who turn the status as permanently off so that we can’t track if they are online or not, and how long they have been away from the computer. But can you blame them? For years, corporations chew them up and spit them out. Hard work, loyalty, and integrity can only buy you so much time. The relentless waves of redundancy will eventually hunt you down and get you in the jugular. They have created generations of quiet quitters. Simultaneously, they have also created generations of the lazy, ambitious backstabbers – the most dangerous and toxic of them all.

The sad truth is, no matter how much you quit or stab, you will soon lose to AI.

Walking into the empty office, computers, chairs, desks, lockers, planters, time stands still, and I have a sudden fantasy of dancing on the desks – between patches of brain fog come the ridiculous and deadly funny ideas…

“…hey, morning!” jolts me back into reality. It is Mr. Kill-Joy.

“Hey, morning, Ish! How are you?” and I proceed to settle quickly into the desk I booked when I am in the office, feeling embarrassed, he may read my mind and see my urge to dance on desks. I always book the same desk. Rather ironic, as I work to change people and processes. As it turns out, I value stability and routine a lot more than the excitement the unknown brings. The chair setting has not changed. Good. The screen position is exactly where I left it. Perfect. My number is still on the desk phone. Brilliant. It is going to be a fantastic day after all. Who says flexible working arrangement works? And no, we don’t get precious at all.

The office pantry is the best place to gossip, listen to gossip, or spread the gossip. I miss the good old boiler with the red tap. You read the hot water warning sign while holding up the mug, and inevitably, water hits the tea bag and spills it on your hand. A modern water tap gives you lukewarm water and makes tea like milky, dirty dish water.

“I am tired already…” says Mr. Kill-Joy.

“Ish, it is only half past eight!” You can always depend on Mr. Kill-Joy to give you the sass and the invigorating vibe to start the day.

“I got up at 4 to go to the gym, as I have told you before. I have been doing this for weeks now. I should take a break. You see….”

I stare at water pouring into my mug, blocking what Ish is saying.

“…hey, you know what I mean, right?”

“Absolutely. 100%.”

“So when is the best time to go?”

“What?”

“China, Malaysia…Asia.”

“

Oh, right. November maybe. It is less hot and it is not peak travelling season, so tickets should be cheaper.”

“Need to start looking and thinking now.”

Looking and thinking about what?

“How old do you think I am?”

Gosh, don’t do that to me!

“…early 40s?” says Pinocchio.

“47! I am 47! I am old, and that’s why I am always tired.”

God damn! Good job, he doesn’t know how old I am.

“Oh…ha-ha…I couldn’t tell!” Definitely a tree branch with a bird’s nest now.

“You know I don’t want to get burnt out. I am looking at places that I can retire. Somewhere warm, good living standard, good food.”

“Oh, yes, plenty of good food in Asia for sure. Chinese dim sum, Thai curry, Vietnamese pho…”

“Here, I don’t want to live anywhere outside of London…”

“Sure. A lot more is going on in London, right? Expensive though…”

“No, no, it is not that… there are too many White English people in the countryside!” He whispers.

Did I hear it right?

He is complaining too many White British people in Britain?

Only in this country, where national identity is so opaque and murky. Only in this country it is almost embarrassing and shameful to celebrate their own culture and heritage. Saying Merry Christmas is a no-no now because they are nervous that non-Christian people will get offended. They say “happy holiday”. How ridiculous is that? I don’t see the supposedly offended people working on Christmas and Boxing Day. It is like when they say “happy lunar new year” instead of “happy Chinese New Year” – who else would celebrate Chinese New Year if you are not Chinese?

People – you can’t have it both ways. You can’t settle down in a country, enjoy the perks but not respect their culture. If someone dares to say anything, then someone must be a racist.

Countries are closing their doors. Isolationism reigns supreme. Alarm bells are ringing inside, and no more is no more. Self-preservation is self-defense.

Respect, tolerance, and acceptance are the pillars of a harmonious society. A casual carefree conversation at the work pantry reveals the strangely upside-down inside-out psychology of guests taking over the home soil. Recreating the very same environment they have left behind, rejecting the local culture, and despising the presence of people in their own country begs the question of why they wanted to leave in the first place.

“China is different, you know, right?”

“Haha…how?” Laughing awkwardly and embarrassingly trying to hide what I really think of him.

“They are direct. They will tell you – you look different.”

So you do want to be treated differently.

“Haha…we are not racist…we just don’t mince our words…”

I am not sure where this conversation leads.

“You know I want to see what opportunities are out there.” Mr. Kill-Joy lowers his eyes, looking at his steaming cup of coffee. Deep down, he knows if he has not made it here, it is unlikely he will make it anywhere else. It is not about his age, it is not about changing the country, changing the energy and vibe, it is about how hungry he is to get what he wants. He walks back to his desk, head hanging down, shoulders slouched, dragging his every step.

Co-existence. Co-tolerance. Local. Aliens. Bring them in. Keep them out. Legal. Illegal. Black. White. Yellow. Brown. Ultimately, no one can escape a bad economy. Money has evaporated. AI is taking our jobs. The young feel hopeless. The aged fear having their bottoms wiped by robots.

Meanwhile, more people are streaming into the office. The water cooler conversation started from nowhere and finished in nowhere.

Here we go – Tuesday after the Bank Holiday Monday…how much is the Euro Jackpot tonight?