"Listen up, Todd, my name is Naima, if you can pronounce Wasilewska, or O'Rourke, you can definitely say my name right!" I said sharply to my manager, Todd Jenkins, and the portly, red-haired white dude stood there, gawking. And he wasn't the only one either. Everyone inside the Loblaw's Supermarket seemed to be staring at me, and for once, I didn't give a damn.
Never let it be said that I, Naima Ali, let fools walk all over me. I'm five-foot-eight, a bit curvy but fit, with dark brown skin, black hair that I almost always hide away under my Hijab, and chocolate eyes. My friends call me Tiny Tornado because when you piss me off, I let you have it, no matter who you are. Todd here is about to experience the full power of Hurricane Naima...
"Miss Ali, perhaps we should continue this in my office," Todd said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile like a man trying to save face. You know that manager from hell you see memes about on Facebook? That guy is a pure radiant saint compared to Todd Jenkins, I swear. I've never had daydreams about murdering someone until I started working for this bozo.
"Whatever," I said, and even though I knew Todd was about to fire my ass, I didn't give anything even close to a damn. I'm a Criminology student at the University of Toronto, and since this town has a problem with intelligent young people of color trying to get ahead, this is the best job I can get while still working on my undergraduate degree. Not that I'll miss it, mind you. I hate this place more than I can say.
I followed Todd to the office out back, and every cashier and backroom worker looked at me as I walked by. Todd is a really mean dude who makes a habit of abusing his power, especially when dealing with people of color. A lot of people think Toronto is a friendly town with a lot of multiculturalism and all that jazz. The truth is that Toronto is a concrete jungle, and just people half the people living here are of non-European descent doesn't mean that racism isn't alive and well.
"I've been working here for six months, Todd, and I've watched you do nothing but demean people, and I'm sick of it," I said flatly as Todd looked at me from his seat, a smug smile on his face. I wanted to get up and slap the shit out of Todd but willed myself to be calm. I figured this bozo wasn't worth it. I knew Todd's type all too well. That white dude who smiles a lot and flirts with all the minority women at work, but can turn around and be cold and snide to them in a minute, if he feels like it. Even if I weren't a lesbian, I wouldn't have touched Todd with a ten and a half foot pole. Seriously.
"Miss Ali, sorry for pronouncing your name wrong, but your outburst was unwarranted, consider this a formal warning, and please go back to your work station," Todd said, and as I looked into his depthless blue eyes, I saw a coldness that an iceberg couldn't match. Todd is an establishment guy, backed up by said establishment. People like that don't lose their cool, they know the game is rigged in their favor.
"Cool," I said, and I did something which nobody at the Loblaw's Supermarket had done in the six months since I started working there. I walked out of Todd Jenkins office with my head held high. Three hours later, I was on the bus going to the suburb of Mississauga, where I live. I got off and walked up to my apartment on Hawkesbury Street, not far from the old public library. To add insult to injury, it started to rain right after I got off the bus. Frigging great!
The Hijab on my head did little to protect me from the rain, and I regretted leaving my jacket at home. It started out as a warm and sunny Saturday in early April, you see. That's what I get for trusting the Ontario weather. I got home, and then took off my clothes, and stepped into the shower. I stood there and ran my hands through my hair, and let the warm water wash over me. How I wished it could wash away all memory of the horrible day I've had.
A few minutes later, I stepped out of the shower and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a green tank top. Grabbing the remote, I turned on my Smart TV and looked up free TV series in the On Demand section. I opted to watch the TV series Supergirl. In this episode, Kara Danvers A.K.A. Supergirl finally admits her feelings for Jimmy Olsen, played by the sexy African-American actor Mehcad Brooks, and they shared their first kiss onscreen.
Like a lot of comic book fans, I was surprised to see a black actor portray Jimmy Olsen, one of Superman's best friends and an enduring icon of DC Comics, but I have to admit Mr. Brooks is doing a good job. As I watched Kara and Jimmy kiss, I felt a longing from deep within. I hate coming home sometimes, for the apartment I share with my beloved is now empty. It's been three days since my girlfriend Arbena "Abby" Meksi went on a business trip to Ottawa. I sorely miss the lovely Kosovar woman who stole my heart. I remember how we met like it was yesterday.
"Excuse me, could you please point me in the Bora Laskin Law Library?" I asked the tall, lovely young woman I saw walking into a Starbucks located near campus. I'd been walking around the University of Toronto campus for a while, and so far, nobody seemed to know where the library was. Like typical Toronto people, the bozos would smile at me and shake their heads, or just ignore me. I'm pretty sure they know, they just don't want to help me. Fuck them, that's why.
"Oh, absolutely, I work there, let me just grab my coffee and I'll show you," replied the tall brunette with the dark brown eyes and light bronze skin. Clad in a black leather jacket, red turtleneck shirt, blue jeans and black cowgirl boots, she was stunning. I like tall girls, by the way.
The beautiful stranger looked me up and down, and then smiled. Like someone who likes what they see, I think. Unless I am mistaken, that is. When she smiled, it was a genuine smile, not just a stretching of the lips. That's kind of rare around these parts, believe me. Passive aggression and fake smiles are part and parcel of daily life when you're a visible minority living in Ontario, I'm afraid.
"Thank you, I'm Naima Ali," I said, and I held out my hand, which the lovely brunette shook without hesitation. We went into the Starbucks together, and she grabbed an espresso while I got a real coffee with lots of sugar. A few minutes later, my would-be benefactor and I exited the Starbucks together, and that's when I finally learned her name.
