Affirmative action was made for me. I’m not joking. I’m easily the most passable black person on the face of the planet (when I straighten my hair). My friends used me as their excuse for not being racist for so many years, I made a T-shirt that simply said Token. At every school I’ve attended, I could count minorities on one hand. When my boyfriend asked how I take my coffee, I told him to just add cream until it’s the color of me. I’ve been mistaken for half white, Spanish, Mexican, Puerto Rican and in one particularly strange encounter, half Asian. I live in a state where the ethnicity box on job applications has been reduced to “Hispanic or Latino” and “not Hispanic or Latino.”

So when the federal government told me I could get a job because I don’t have to tan and I have a vagina, I knew my time had finally come.

Nevermind that I have over ten years of experience: I can string sentences together and I’m not white. So I sat back and waited for the job offers to come rolling in.


I bided my time with a Master’s while I was waiting for all those “please work for us, smart black woman” emails to crowd my inbox. Then America decided to make a black man president. OK, now all the jobs are going to start clamoring for my talent, right?


Apparently I’ve waited so long, the system has started to work backwards.
Well America, I give up. There’s literally nothing more I can do to make you hire me short of going back in time and changing my heritage.

That’s it, I’m moving to Canada.