WHAT’S UP GIRLFRIEND?
Author’s Note
“What’s Up Girlfriend?” was originally published in 1994, however, it’s basic storyline of how “women of color” cope with stressors in the workplace is still relevant in contemporary society.
“What’s Up Girlfriend?” is an intriguing, albeit fictional look, at women of color in the workplace, coping with job politics, sexual pressure/promotions, homosexuality, religion, mental illness, racism and family conflict. As a woman of color, Elsaida’s depiction of how some Black women unite and form an unshakable bond as “Sisters In The Workplace,” while others strive to adopt a “white on white attitude and state of being,” hits home with remarkable candor and painful realism. “What’s Up Girlfriend?” is a must read for every woman or person of color.
BOOK EXCERpTS….
Chapter One
Let the good times roll…
It is mid-morning. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, homemade biscuits and grits permeate the air. Birds are chirping outside and people are buzzing inside. Sounds of soft reggae music resonate from the juke box.
Aunt Mayola’s Diner serves the best breakfast in town. It also functions as a Community gathering place. Whether you wish to engage in unrestricted discourse or just plain Chill and enjoy the food, Aunt Mayola’s is the place to be. Good natured ribbing and trash talking is as much a part of the menu, as Aunt Mayola’s homemade peach preserves, biscuits and grits. This inner city diner on the corner of 15th and Kenyard is best described as a spot where people care for and about each other. Alive with Laughter and Love, Aunt Mayola’s captures your heart and touches your soul.
The Diner is rocking this morning. A celebration is taking place. Ms. Lorraine’s retirement breakfast party is in full swing. Having worked fifteen years at a company named The Agency; Ms. Lorraine is finally calling it quits. Sitting with Ms. Lorraine are her co-workers and friends, Keisha, Ebony and Ms. Naomi.
“I don’t know why all the fuss,” said Mr. Argus, a neighbor of Ms. Lorraine’s. Lorraine will do just about anything for a little attention. Matter of fact, I’ve seen her celebrate two birthdays in one year and all the people who went to the first birthday party, came to the second one too. Funny thing though, Lorraine never got any older but she sure did get prettier.”
“Mr. Argus, why don’t you sit your cute, shiny, little, bald head down. You’re just jealous cause Ms. Lorraine gets bigger birthday gifts then you do,” teased Ebony.
“Child don’t pay any attention to Argus, he can’t help himself. He was born silly,” said Ms. Lorraine as she rolled with laughter.
The front door swung open. Several teenagers dressed in jogging outfits poured into the diner. Aunt Mayola spotted Rasta in the group.
“Hi sweet thing. Come and give me a hug,” Aunt Mayola stood with open arms.
Rasta laughed and wrapped his muscular arms around Aunt Mayola. He was a handsome kid. Rasta, the fifteen year old son of Ebony had come by to say hello. He and his buddies were jogging in the neighborhood and having a good time.
“That boy really can run,” exclaimed brother Linton, the owner of the gas station across the street from Aunt Mayola’s. “One time Rasta was running so fast, he left his shadow behind.”
“Go on Mr. Linton, I’m not that fast,” kidded Rasta.
“Yes son you are that fast,” repeated Mr. Linton. “One of these days I expect to see you in the Olympics but I don’t want you representing only America; I want you also representing folk in the Inner City. That’s where your roots are. I live here. You live here. Many of your buddies live here and most of the people in this Diner live here. Take a look around son. There are many good people in this place and in this neighborhood. Wherever you go, always remember who you are and where you came from. Let this be the yardstick by which you measure your life.
Brother Linton sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, took a drink of coffee and smiled; confident he made a positive impression on the young man.
Rasta looked thoughtfully at Mr. Linton and responded, “Yes sir I think I understand and thank you.”
“Time to go man,” said one of Rasta’s buddies.
“By mama, see you later,” Rasta trotted out the door.
“Be careful son and don’t forget to come home and do your chores,” Ebony reminded him.
Rasta whirled around with a big grin on his face. He hurriedly plugged the Walkman into his ears saying, “sorry mama, I can’t hear you. Bye.” Rasta dashed outside before his mother could again remind him about his chores.
Brother Linton howled with laughter. “Now there goes a smart kid. When his mother speaks, he develops a hearing problem.”
“Where’s the preacher man?” asked brother T.J., another neighbor and longtime friend of Ms. Lorraine’s. “Can’t wait too much longer for the good Reverend. Heaven can wait but my stomach can’t. If Reverend Sam doesn’t show up soon, I’ll bless the food myself.”
Keisha bubbled with excitement, “Speaking of the preacher man, let me tell all of you about the sermon I heard last Sunday entitled the finger thing.”
“The finger thing! Go girl, this ought to be good,” exclaimed Ebony. “Keisha, is this story anything like the one about your blind date who was so tight with money, he squeezed copper off the penny?”
This story is the honest truth. I heard it in church last Sunday,” replied a laughing Keisha. “Here’s how it goes. Reverend Steve, my Pastor, was talking about how good it felt being ordained. The next day while driving, Reverend Steve came to a stop at the traffic light. When the light turned green, Reverend didn’t move. Pastor Steve was caught up in the moment, thinking about his wonderful ordination.” Keisha began laughing hysterically.
“Go on girl, tell your story!” said Ebony.
Keisha caught her breath and resumed telling her fabulous story.
It seems the brother sitting in the car behind my Pastor didn’t appreciate the fact that the good Reverend wasn’t moving. The dude pulled up beside Pastor Steve and said; “Hey man, do you know you’ve been sitting at the traffic light for ten minutes? Tennnnn minutes!”
“Huh?” groaned Reverend Steve.
My poor Pastor was in a fog. He’d forgotten where he was. When the Reverend’s mind cleared, he responded; “I was thinking about my ordination.”
The brother was not impressed. He rolled his eyes at Reverend Steve and responded sarcastically; “Man, I don’t care!”
Reverend Steve couldn’t believe his ears. The brother didn’t care. Reverend was gonna have to set him straight.
With much fervor in his voice, Reverend Steve proudly announced; “Brother, I just got ordained last night.”
The good brother was still not impressed. He looked at Reverend Steve, rolled his eyes again and responded in an even more sarcastic manner; “Hey man, I told you I don’t care and I mean I don’t care!”
Without warning, the dude flipped Reverend Steve the bird finger. Not to be outdone, Reverend Steve returned the favor. For four outrageously long blocks, my beloved Pastor, Reverend Steve, and the good brother, drove their cars down the street doing the finger thing.
Like being struck by a bolt of lightning, Reverend Steve had a shocking revelation. “Oh my goodness!” Reverend shouted, “I am a man of the cloth! I can’t be doing the finger thing!”