I try to take some deep cleansing breaths, to remember the coping skills that I had to use almost every day at my old job. The techniques I vowed I would never have to use again because of somebody making me feel small at work.
Yet here I am again.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” I keep my words calm and measured as I slowly close my computer, afraid that all of the anger sizzling through my veins will cause a Hulk-like blowup. “I’m going to leave and try to forget that you ever said that. Tomorrow, you will meet me in my office when you get out of practice and we will only meet there unless we have to go to the venue for the launch. We will only speak when we need to speak or when you decide that you’re ready to apologize for insinuating that not only am I not qualified for my job, but that I only got it because of my skin color.”
“You really don’t think that he’s using you? So that when the press comes sniffing around, he can parade you in front of them and say that I’m misguided in calling out the racism in his organization because look at you. You’re Black and a woman.” He leans back in his chair, a sadistic smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. “You can’t be that naive.”
My dad raised me with the mentality to be color-blind. I try to live my life like that. I don’t know what Quinton has experienced. I see the struggles Black men in this country face and I’m not so “naive” to think racism isn’t a huge problem. But I’m not okay with him projecting his problems onto me. I’ve had enough people question my validity as a biracial woman—and where they think I belong in this world—that I can’t bite my tongue any longer.
“What’s your problem? Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. I’ve been working with you for two weeks. In that time, name one moment where you’ve felt I’m not qualified to be here. You can’t. Because I’m damn good at my job.” I shove my computer in my bag and start walking to the door before I spin back around. “No! I’m not done here. You’ve made your stance clear. You have a problem with racism and mistreatment in the League. Everyone should! But did you ever consider that by implying I got my job solely because of my skin color, and not because I’ve worked my entire life for it, you’re creating problems too? Yes, I’m Black. And I’m white. I was raised by my white dad. I have white friends. And they’ve never insinuated anything like what just came out of your mouth. So maybe before you go throwing around insults like that, you should check your own bias first.”
And finally feeling satisfied by the look of something other than smugness on Quinton’s stupid face, I make my exit with the sinking feeling that my career is ending with the door slamming behind me.
Eight
Icy.
If there is one word that could be used to describe the state of my relationships with everyone involved with the Mustangs organization, it’s icy.
As much as I wanted to dismiss everything Quinton said as pure bullshit, I’d be lying if some of it didn’t worm its way right into my brain and feed all of my insecurities. Like the fact that Mr. Mahler didn’t even seem to like me before placing this huge task on my shoulders. Or the fact that since he assigned it, I haven’t heard a peep from him. I send him an update every Friday, but he has yet to respond to one email. I’m starting to wonder if he’s giving me enough rope to hang myself. I feel like he took the first opportunity he could find to sabotage my time here.
He set the stage so that if Quinton decides to stop taking a knee, he looks great for working things out. Or, on the flip side, say Quinton keeps kneeling and covering his logo, he can place all of the blame for the lack of progress on me.
I asked Paul if this level of disinterest is normal from him and he assured me that it is. That Mahler is known to give big assignments and then leave us to do our work without micromanagement. But now I’m even wondering if I can trust Paul to tell me the truth. I spent all weekend drafting statements for coaches and the general managers to use when they’re confronted with questions about Quinton. The messaging is in line with what Quinton has been saying, but takes pressure off the organization. Paul thanked me and told me I did a great job, but when I watched the press conference after the practice, the coaches were singing a completely different tune. It’s like Paul took my message and gave them the polar opposite statement. I can feel the distance growing between me and my coworkers. That feeling of never quite fitting in or belonging grows more pronounced every time I walk in the room.
If Quinton’s intentions were to plant a poppy seed of doubt that would bloom into full-blown paranoia, he was wildly successful.
And now, unlucky for me, I get to start my weekend by spending this beautiful Saturday morning waking up way too early and listening to Quinton’s annoying voice echoing around the empty room where we’ll be hosting his launch event in exactly ten days. And would you like to know how I’m feeling about that? In the
