Haitian and Male in Canada Ch 06
- 3 years ago
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A Haitian On Canada Day free porn video
Bad people. They exercise an undue influence in our lives. My name is Richard Saint Preux, and I am a man standing alone. Working hard all summer long so I can pay for my classes at Carleton University come September 2012. Not easy when I only make a little over seven hundred and fifty bucks every two weeks as a Security guard in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. And I got to pay for rent ( five hundred a month ) and groceries and my bus pass ( ninety six dollars a month ) out of that. Still, I manage to create an interesting life here for myself. I come from humble beginnings.
I’m a Haitian guy living in Canada after spending half my life in the United States. And I’m not a U.S. Citizen or a Canadian Citizen for that matter. I wanted to become an American citizen but thanks to some bad lawyering and lousy decisions in the part of my parents, things fell apart. I left America after spending half my life there. I’m 25 years old. Just a Haitian national in search of greener pastures. Trying to survive as a Black man in the Great White North. Yeah, it’s like that. I wouldn’t call mine the greatest or most adventurous existence but hey, it’s a living. It’s my life, damn it, and it’s the only one I’ve got.
The other day I was sitting inside the Carleton University library, feeling pretty dapper since I got away from the summer heat. I sat at a computer, checking my Facebook profile while listening to YouTube. We’re in early July 2012. The first week of July actually. Right after Canada Day. I still owe the school two hundred dollars from the January-May 2012 semester and I’ll need a thousand dollars if I want to take any courses this coming September 2012. The Security company I work for has me working as an overnight guard at a big grocery store in the region of Kanata, about an hour away from the City of Ottawa. It’s a long bus ride there, man. Kanata isn’t exactly close to where I stay. I live in the Vanier area, right next to the Saint Laurent Mall.
Getting to work is tough for me. I walk from my apartment to the number 9 bus stop, and if I catch it, I’ll ride it to Hurdman Station and then switch onto bus number 96. It goes all the way to Kanata from downtown Ottawa. If I don’t catch bus 96 at Hurdman, I’ll catch the 95 bus to Tunney’s Pasture station and then switch onto a 96 bus there. Oh, and the 96 is not the most frequent bus in the City. Sometimes it causes me to be late to work. The night crew chief at the grocery store where I work Security is an uptight White chick in her fifties. Not a lot of fun to work with, and she doesn’t like immigrants. Anyhow, I was chilling inside the school library when this broad named Evelyn came and tapped me on the shoulder.
Evelyn is a tall Black chick from Nigeria. She has an attitude up the yin yang. Once upon a time, I liked her. For a time, the feeling seemed mutual. Then I got to know Evelyn and quickly realized why she had no female friends, and no close friends of any kind for that matter. Evelyn and I hadn’t seen each other in months. She flashed a fake smile, and asked me if I could help her with something. One of my weaknesses is that I like to help people, even though many of them don’t always deserve it. Evelyn told me she needed money for bus tickets, since she hadn’t bought her bus pass yet. Reluctantly, I agreed to help her. We walked to the campus bookstore together. It’s a ten minute walk from the second floor of the school library.
On our way there, being the charming Haitian gentleman that I am, I tried to make conversation. I had forgotten that people don’t make conversation with Evelyn. In her world, she talks and you listen. Evelyn asked me how I was doing, who I was dating, etc. I made a point to tell her that I was dating a beautiful Black woman, and that seemed to surprise her. Even though I have had sexual encounters with both White women and Black women, I am known for my fondness for Black females. Sadly, I don’t have much luck with them. Since I’m bisexual, you’d think I’d be less nervous around pretty women. Nope. They affect me just as much as they affect regular guys. I often go after the wrong woman. Evelyn being an exemplar of the type of female that every man should avoid. For real. I’m not sure but her callous disregard for others and lack of shame or remorse make me think she might be a sociopath. Weird.
I went into the campus bookstore with her, and paid seven dollars with my Royal Bank of Canada debit card in order to buy the purple bus tickets for her. She thanked me, then asked me to go to the bus stop with her. While we walked there, her bus left. She seemed disappointed, and at this point I wanted to return to the library. Still, I had one more thing in mind. I wished Evelyn a good day, then told her that she owed me. As in owed me a favor. A favor for a favor, that’s how they do it where I come from. Evelyn flashed her trademark cold smile, told me she didn’t owe me anything but thanked me for helping her out of the goodness of my heart. I walked away, muttering the word ‘bitch’ under my breath. I just did a favor for that Nigerian chick and I am starting to feel like a sucker. Never again, I told myself. Next time she asks me for anything, the answer is going to be no. Women like Evelyn make the world a worse place than it has to be. I don’t know what I ever saw in her in the first place. Must have been the lust talking. Sigh. Playing nice gets you nowhere.
I go back to the campus library computers. I’m working at the grocery store tonight. Just walking around the 24/7 grocery store. Hardly anyone comes in at night, so I don’t know why they need Security. Occasionally, giggling White chicks in low-cut dresses and arrogant drunken guys come in. Together. They’re not fun for Mister Security Guard to deal with. Anyhow, it’s whatever. I spend most of the night sitting at a desk in the Customer Service office, where I can see the cashier, the night crew guys and most of the grocery store. From time to time I get up and walk around the store, mostly out of boredom rather than any concern for the store itself. I work the 11 P.M. to 7 A.M. shift at the big grocery store in Kanata. Yay for me. I start Sunday night and finish Friday morning. I have Saturday and Sunday off.
In the mornings, when I’m done with work, I walk to Terry Fox station and catch the 96 bus. It’s going to Hurdman station. Once at Hurdman, I wait for bus number 9 which stops directly in front of my apartment. Anyhow, there is this pretty gal I met about a month ago. Kitty Taariq. You’ve got to see her, man. She’s tall and very beautiful, with alabaster skin, long Black hair and pale blue eyes. Kit Taariq is the daughter of an Arab father and French Canadian mother. She went to Catholic school, and attends Carleton University. We ride the bus together. She’s fun to talk to. Kitty works at an art studio. She’s really cool. The other day I had the bright idea of offering her my number and she took it, but didn’t offer hers. Translation? We’re better off as friends, buddy. Not interested. The funny thing is that now, she couldn’t contact me by phone even if she wanted to. The cell phone I’ve had for the past two years, the TELUS one, got smashed during Canada Day revelries in Gatineau. I went to the Saint Laurent Mall and got a new phone from Virgin Mobile. Sorry, Kitty. Papa’s got a brand new phone.
Anyways, Evelyn and Kitty are prime examples of ladies I typically go after. The high-maintenance type. The wrong women for a guy like me. Evelyn is the daughter of Nigerian diplomats and Kitty’s father is a wealthy Arab businessman trading in exotic goods. Me? Broke ass Black man from Haiti raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. I have an Associate’s degree from Bay State Community College, a school in the Boston area. My credits transferred to Carleton University without too much fuss. I’ve got a year left before I get my Criminology degree from Carleton. That’s cool, right?
I yawn. It’s already 5 P.M. Soon I will go home to rest before my 11 P.M. to 7 A.M. ove
rnight shift. I smile as I look at my new phone. It showed who recently called me. Her name is Arianne. This tall, cute Black gal I met at the movie theater a month ago. I was going there to see the movie The Dictator and she was going to see the same movie. We were both solo. We ended up sitting together, exchanged numbers and became fast friends. Since that first meeting, Arianne and I have become tight friends. We go to the movies together at least once a week. We hang out regularly. I’ve taken her to the National Gallery of Canada, where I once worked. We’ve also hung out at the park. This past week, I took her to the barbecue organized by my church, All Worlds Church near Saint Laurent in Ottawa.
Arianne and I get along just fine. I like her sense of humor. Oh, and she’s really cute too. Arianne is cool, and always has me laughing with her jokes. Also, she likes to spit the costs on everything when we hang out. As in, if we’re at the movies, I’ll get the tickets and she’ll get the snacks. Or vice versa. I don’t tell her this but I really like that about her. I’m the super friendly guy who has trouble saying no. I’m used to having friends and family using me as an ATM. Arianne isn’t like the others. I find her refreshing and new, a breath of fresh air and an injection of life into my dreary existence. I smile and walk out of the library. I call up Arianne. Her warm, friendly voice greets me after two rings. Instantly I smile. Calling me hot and nerdy, she asks me how my day is going. Hmmm. I’m already feeling better.
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