My Recent Foray into Houston's Own Little Africa
Houston is one of the most wonderfully diverse cities in the Nation. From Harwin Street where I first got my Insurance License in 2006 in the heart of the Mahatma Gandhi District to Chinatown & beyond, Houston is home to a massive African Community with immigrants from many African Nations.
Because my fledgling business is not yet self-sustaining with a livable income, I recently took a side-gig here.
Answering an Ad for Marketing Professionals, I quickly found out that the marketing style business model here is Grassroots Marketing.
Grassroots Marketing is a valid legitimate business model & one that has found favor among Political Candidates: Door-to-Door Canvassing neighborhoods, Street Fairs & Community Events with a tent & table-top on the side of the road.
The business model employed here has been wildly successful for them, with major client corporations employing them to be the “Food SampLers & Perfume Sprizters” we see at the mall.
The client I represented offered a product that would be in direct competition with products sold in the stores, so for that reason, I was generally sweating my ass off in a parking lot in the wind, rain & blistering sun.
The man whose marketing firm I worked for is an impressive young man, 10 years younger than me but extremely tall dark & handsome – a regular “Mr GQ.”
Parisian-born of African parents, this young man was raised in London & Scotland & has been in this country for about 10 years.
And did I mention funny? He could seriously be a successful Stand-Up Comedian.
The problem? Beyond the challenging working conditions of working outside, there is always an element among my Co-Workers of “what is SHE doing here?” Even among my female co-workers.
Our daily morning meetings were a Cheerleading-style Pep-Talk to pump up the excitement to get our day going, but were mortifyingly base on Freudian Psychology: Sex & Toilet Training - OMG the basis of my business here at Revolving Door HR.
If anyone is still reading this, if we can send the children out of the room, this is what our morning meetings sounded like:
Mother-fucking Shit, Mother Fucking Shit, Mother Fucking Shit.
Basic Freudian Psychology. While it was actually pretty funny, it was MORTIFYING BEYOND BELIEF, to see gorgeous Mr GQ stand there dressed to the teeth in a 3-piece suit, complete with Vest & Tie saying Mother Fucking Shit 30 times a day!!!
What was worse was the reaction of the Black WOMEN towards me. Misogyny of WOMEN AGAINST OTHER WOMEN. Everyone would laugh & then look at me, just GLARING "Umhum - It's HER fault."
Honestly, if this guy were 10 years older, I would date him. It is age NOT race that would stop me if he were to ask me out.
So I stayed as long as I could.
It was just too much to bear.