The Black Tom Hanks

I used to work in a factory with this light-skinned black dude, Michael. Michael was 30 years old, married with two young children. He was a Hip-Hop head and a gregarious animal. He took pride in being pleasant and "laid-back".

One day I wore a red shirt to work.

"You down with the Bloods, Will?" Michael teased.

"Me? Down with the Bloods? Oh, no way. I'm not a coward. I'm not a conformist. I don't need to hide behind ignorance. I fight my own battles."

"Ooh! You better watch what you say!"

"Why? I don't live in South Central L.A. What? Are you afraid of those pussies? Yes, I see all the little 'Bloods' in my neighborhood. If they bother me I'll take off my leather belt and spank their little black asses raw. I'll beat them the way their fathers should be beating them. I'll be their father. I'll beat them the way my father used to beat me. I had it much rougher than any of them and I'm not pretending to be some kind of gangbanger. Bunch of pussies."

"Well, some of them might be faking it, but not all of them."

"Wrong! They're all cowards. They're all conformists. Even the real ones who actually kill people. All of them are cowards and conformists."

Sometimes Michael would alternately bore and amuse me with unconsciously and unintentionally comical tales of his anonymous, nowhere life. In addition to working at the factory, he did landscaping work and he was attempting to launch a clothing line called "Ghetto Threads". Thank goodness for unintentional comedians - a gift from nature.

"Yeah, so I do lawns and I run my clothing label and on weekends I do a lot of volunteer work for my church because I think it's very important to give back to the community."

"Oh, that's very nice," I said. But what I was really thinking was: Give back? But nigga, you ain't got shit and you ain't neva' gon' have shit! Give back? How the fuck you gon' give back when you ain't yet received nothin'? But I guess I'm just being a "hata".

I've never understood the concept of "giving back to the community" probably because I have never received anything from the community other than unending grief and heartache.

Michael turned out to be phony and smarmy, a black Tom Hanks. He told me he was on Myspace and I sent him both a message and a friend request. My reasons for doing this were simple: I wanted him to see my Myspace profile - with its erudite references and lists of difficult books - and be confronted with my obvious superiority. In turn he would be simultaneously reminded of his own very obvious inferiority. I, of course, hid my own vain intentions behind a polite and friendly message.

But he never responded to my message. He forwarded it - to Lord knows who - probably to make fun of me, of my "weirdness" or, rather, of what he would take to be my weirdness: my superiority.

What has the world come to when the superior are mocked by the inferior? Well, I suppose the world has always been the same.

What a phony Michael turned out to be. At least I don't pretend to be a Tom Hanks.

Goddamned black Tom Hanks.