Crystal Clear

It was a typical summer day, and the office sweltered under it. The sun's oppressive thumb pressed down on the business like a tyrant, demanding all pay homage to its reign. On days like this, the only option was to catch a cool breeze of air through an open window and pretend not to see the dark swatches of sweat stained clothing on your co-workers. Any kind of exertion under these conditions was like pulling a car through molten rubber. Any expended effort came with the embarrassing knowledge of diaphoretic results.

When the two gentlemen got into the elevator, they thought nothing of laziness. Climbing flights of stairs to their destination was an invitation for heat stroke. Both men dressed with the immaculate perfection their positions demanded. Each wore a pinstriped black Armani suit, matching down to the last cufflink. Neither wore glasses, but a pair of Sahara brand shades poked from their breast pockets. The button to the double-breasted jacket was undone, allowing air to slip past and to the white shirt they wore. Neither had been in the building long, and were spared the embarrassment of sweat stains, yet their matching ties glistened with each change in light, as if they had captured the morning dew in the silk. They had similar builds, similar heights, and were of approximately the same age.

The only difference was that one man was African American, and the other Caucasian.

They entered the elevator at the same time and stood on opposite sides as is customary during elevator rides. Both pushed the button to the same floor, gave one another a sheepish look, and then returned to their neutral stance. The gentle upward pressure of the elevator started them on their normal ride before a sudden jolt rocked the car. The two men reached to the side rail for balance, then looked around in confusion.

The white man was the first to speak. "What happened?"

"No clue," the black man said, "looks like the elevator's broken."

"This is going to make us late for the meeting."

"Yes, it probably will." The black man tapped the emergency button. "Maybe things overheated."

The white man looked at his watch and sighed. "Maybe it will start up again in a few minutes."

"Here's hoping."

A voice spoke from the emergency speaker. "This is maintenance."

"Hello," the black man said, "we're stuck in an elevator."

"Do you know which floors?"

"Between five and six, I think," the white man said.

There was a long silence on the other end. "We got you. Elevator's busted. We're going to see what the problem is."

"If you'd not mind," the black man said, "we're going to be late for a meeting upstairs. Can you call extension 7675 and tell them that Mister Jet and Mister Lily will be late?"

"Can do that, sir. Hang in there, we'll getcha out."

"Lovely," the white man said, "looks like we're going to be stuck in here for a while."

"Looks like it," the black man said, "might as well try to relax. They'll get it cleared soon."

"Maintenance has never been particularly fast around here."

"Or effective, come to think of it. Why else would the A/C be off?"

"You've got a point there, a damn good point. Someone needs to give those Mexicans a good prod to get going."

The black man looked at the white man. "What do Mexicans have to do with anything?"

"Haven't you seen Maintenance?" The white man said. "I haven't seen that many Hispanics since I was down in Florida."

There was a long silence from the black man before he spoke. "Yeah, they're slow, but somehow I don't think it's because they're Mexican."

"Doesn't really matter," the white man said, "as long as someone gets up there and fixes it, then I'll be fine. Doesn't matter if it's mexican, latino, black, whatever. No offense."

"Some taken," the black man said, "you seem to be implying that minorities are more suited for those jobs."

"What?" The white man was confused. "I didn't say that."

"Sure you did, you just said that it doesn't matter if it's any minority that gets up and fixes the elevator and then you expect me not to be offended?"

"What's there to be offended about? I mean, am I wrong in stating the obvious? A lot of minorities work in menial jobs. It's a fact. Nothing to get upset over or offended about."

"I have no problem acknowledging the fact that there are many minorities in what you call 'menial jobs'. But it's the supercilious nature by which you refer to them that gets on my nerves."

"Wait," the white man said, frowning, "so just because 99% of the work force down there is a minority of some sort, you're going to go off and call me arrogant? What kind of a thing is that?"

"Because you keep getting your facts wrong," the black man said, "first off, how many people do you actually know in maintenance? The only time we even see them is when something like this happens or a light bulb goes out. There are other ethnic groups working for them than just Mexican. Even if it's 80%, that's still misrepresenting and discounting those few that do work for them. Lumping them together isn't right."

"Look," the white man rolled his eyes, "it's just a generalization. There was nothing meant by it. I was just making conversation."

"Is that the excuse that you use?" The black man asked. "Oh, it's okay to make stereotypical generalizations in the name of making conversation? Making conversation like that perpetuates those same things that have kept people down for years. And then you wonder why people make such a big deal about race relations and stuff in the workplace when you silently do it yourself."

"What's your problem?" The white man asked. "Now this is suddenly an issue of race relations? You know, I never quite understand how it is that white people can never do a damn thing right for anyone. We set up special programs, focus groups, make visits, donate funds to groups that are specifically geared to helping minorities succeed. And most of them go to blacks who don't give a care as long as they get a handout."

"Aren't you the benevolent ones then," the black man snorted, "from your high and mighty posts, so gracious to give us something that we shouldn't have to ask for. You people throw a little money in a direction and suddenly think that the world is going to be alright? And then, when it isn't, you want to foist the blame on us if it doesn't work? There's a whole lot of change that has to be made in this country, and throwing a few dollars doesn't do it."

"Oh, here we go with that mess again," the white man said, "why do I have to suffer for the sins of my forefathers? Yeah, there was slavery. Yeah, it sucked. Yeah, but it's over now! It's been over for a long time. And yet black people in this country pine away as if they're getting horsewhipped on a daily basis."

"Don't get me started," warned the black man, "you wanna talk about getting horsewhipped? Just because you don't see the scars doesn't mean that they aren't being made. Shit, this very company was built on the backs of slaves. Slaves that don't get a lick of credit or acknowledgement. You think that kind of abuse just disappears when people die? No, it gets passed on from generation to generation, just like you're fond of talking about your Civil War daddy or your confederate flag."

"That's my culture, and I don't give a damn if it represents something bad to you people," the white man said, "you're so big and loud with your cultural hooey – that rap stuff and all the other mess – that suddenly when white people start to talk about their culture it's seen as oppression. Aren't we allowed to have culture too?"

"This entire country is your culture. It's your faces on the money. It's your people in the highest offices. It's your dynasties that run the big companies with money. Don't give me that shit about needing to show your culture. You celebrate your culture everyday every time you jump in your yuppie SUVs, turn on prime time TV and watch your all-white sitcoms, or pick up a history book. Your culture is everywhere."

"What do you want us to do? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm the majority, but these smaller groups want to have all the attention. I swear, some of you people are like whiny children. The slightest hint at what was or what may be that doesn't involve some kind of black or other minority, and you all get together and nod your heads like mmhmm, uh-huh, that's 'the man' out to get you. That's bullshit! That's racism that doesn't exist."

"Are you going to deny the saturation of crap going on out there?" The black man scoffed angrily at him. "Shit, if I walked into this very building without a business suit on, someone would expect to be on the damned janitorial staff. You going to tell me that people watch me when I'm in a store just because they're waiting for the chance to go over and ask if I need any help? I know how to shop! They're thinking I'm going to steal something and trying to keep an eye on me. It's that kind of ingrained racism that doesn't go away unless you say something."

"When was the last time you turned on the news and heard a white man being blamed for shoplifting?"

"When was the last time you heard of a black serial killer?"

"When was the last time you saw a white man get killed in a thug fight?"

"When was the last time a black child walked into a school and started shooting."

"Man, fuck this," the white man said, now sweating and visibly angry, "you know what your problem is? You people don't know when to stop. You give a mouse a cookie, and they're going to want a glass of milk. We give an inch, you take a mile. We give a pound, you take a ton. And then you want to sit back and ask for more like it's your god given right to do so."

"You know what your problem is?" the black man said, "with all the stuff that you think you are giving, you still haven't realized that we are neither mice, nor units of measurement. We're people just like you, and all we want is a fair shake."

"Well, you're getting a fair shake. You have just as much chance to do all the things as white people. That's what the 60s were all about, you know? Peace, love, drugs, and civil rights. You can do all the things that your parents could never do and you never once seem thankful for that."

"My parents," the black man said, now sweating and flushed, "lived under the white man's thumb for years. My mother was a housemaid for a family, and my father was called 'boy' all the way up until he retired. They worked multiple jobs just to keep my brothers and sisters fed. They broke their god-damned backs to give us a shot at a real life. And I'll be damned if I am going to grow up to get to another level and be golf-clapped at by white society as they sit back and say 'Oh look at how good we are. We helped the little niggers grow so much'. That's nothing but racism."

"What the fuck? You think that my daddy gave me this position?" The white man exploded with anger. "You think that I had an easy life just because I'm white? No, you see what you black people don’t' realize is that there's a whole shitload of white people who grow up in trailer homes and other shitholes. The ghetto isn't the only tough place to live when there alcoholic fathers that'd just as soon beat you and your mother after he gets home from a steel plant where people lose limbs? Just because there are a few privileged white folks out there, you people seem to think that every white person has life on a silver fucking platter. Well that isn't the way it is! I earned this position, dammit. I busted my chops to get to college. Worked jobs to get through it – unlike some of these minority only scholarships that go to you because you're SO much more underprivileged – and had to leave behind a history of racism, hate, alcoholism and abuse. And with all the work I've done to make myself better, I get to stand here and listen to a black man tell me that I'm a fucking racist? No, you are the reasons that racism exists in this country because you can't let a damn thing go. Everything's a fucking racial emergency that needs a council, a march, or Congress to fix."

"Black people don't agitate because things are a racial emergency," the black man spat, "they agitate because white people just take that kind of shit for granted. 'Oh, I just spit on you and your people, but it's only a little and you can wipe it off, so it's alright, right?' Fuck no, it's not alright!"

The white man was exasperated. "What do you want? Huh? What the fuck do you want? You want us to get down on our knees and kiss your asses to make it better? You want us to dance naked on a stage and sing black gospel music to honor all your dead? You want us to step aside and let blacks take over everything just so you can finally say 'it's alright'?"

"There is no way for you to measure the kind of damage that has been done to the African American psyche," the black man said with solemn, angry conviction, "there is no way of measuring the kind of pain a black child feels when he sits in a class full of white people and listens to them talk about the history of slavery. There is no apologizing for the curious looks that black people get when they go into some of your high-class snooty white restaurants and aren't cooking the food. There can be no healing for the living black person to know that their grandmother or even sometimes their mothers and fathers got yelled at and spit upon by angry mobs of white people and died never being able to justify why other than the color of their skin! There can be no recompense for tearing us away from our homeland, forcing us to work in a system as cattle, freeing us with no guidance or assistance as if that would make everything better, forcing us to accept your pompous and arrogant cultural beliefs, suddenly claiming that we were equal and had all the same rights as if that would change people's minds, and then getting upset at us when we point out that everything is not equal a generation later!"

"Your problem is that you're inconsolable," the white man snapped, "the problem with all you minorities, but especially the black people is that there is no way for anyone to ever apologize. Hell, I'll tell you straight up that those things you said are heavy. That's serious. That's fucking real, and that's no shit. But what the hell do you want us to do about it? Throw money at the problem like you expect white people to do? All get together and have a big group hug and make everything better? Turn the entire country on its fucking head just so that we can make a third of the population happy? People have said they're sorry. People have tried to redistribute wealth. Our entire college system is already dedicated to the premise that the 'white man is wrong, and look at all these minorities that we've screwed'. People, mostly white, spent their entire lives re-writing history to include minorities! You got upset when people point out that things aren't equal a generation later, well fuck! We're working on it! Okay? We're working on it! Slavery lasted 200 years and you expect that white society is going to fucking fix it as soon as you snap your fingers. Well it ain't that easy, and if you think it is, I'd like to see you try. Given all the money in the world, all you'd do is buy a bunch of shit so you could impress your friends and forget about the people you came up with anyway."
"There are important things to do and white society has grown too soft with their yuppy culture to do them. And as soon as a strong black person comes up and determines change is necessary they throw chains on them and make 'em slow down to a crawl because they're just not ready. I'd switch places with you in a heartbeat, then I wouldn't have to worry about being stopped on the street at night just because of the color of my skin, watched in fucking stores or hounded to buy something or leave, get weird-ass looks every time I walk into a fancy restaurant as if I couldn't afford it, or get called 'white' just because you don't speak some kind of fucked up English!"

"Hell, I wish I could switch with you instead. You get to hide behind black skin and act as if you have no responsibility in the world but the advancement of your own people, whine if something isn't successful enough or say that it's not enough if it is, cry racism the minute someone chooses a qualified white person over you just to have the media descend on the situation like flies, get special rides and programs in college because of your race, and blame every personal and cultural shortcoming on events that happened 40 to 200 years ago and have no one think a damn thing of it!"

"How dare you!" The black man shouted.

"No, how dare you!" The white man shouted back.

The argument had become so hot by this point that both men were sweating profusely, limbs quivering as if they were going to rip each other to shreds. Their Armani suits were soaked through to the jacket, ties darkened with moisture. The oppressive heat, combined with their raw anger, sapped the energy from their bodies such that neither could throw a punch if they wanted to. Then, as if by divine intervention, the elevator was suddenly saturated with a blast of cold air from the vents above. The sudden chill on their sweat stained clothing was so shocking that both men tightened their jackets and quivered. A second later, the elevator lurched downward, then continued its slow ascent up.

"We- we're moving?" The white man gasped in surprise.

"And the air is back!" The black man said.

They both leaned against the elevator walls, trying to soak in as much of the cold air as possible. Quivering from exhaustion and expended effort, they both sunk to the floor and leaned against the walls, panting. Their argument had not been forgotten, and they simply stared at each other with cold, unforgiving eyes. The invisible barrier between them kept both men on their respective sides of the elevator even when the car stopped on the sixth floor. Neither said a thing to the other as paramedics hurried in to treat them both for heat exhaustion. They did not acknowledge each other as they were taken to the same hospital for rehydration.

The silent wall between the black man and the white man was just as impenetrable as it was before they had noticed it. Perhaps it had not been there before the argument; perhaps it had been there all along. The two men were on opposite sides of a transparent barricade, and it drove them both to fury like caged animals. An invisible entrapment, insidiously constructed by the generations before them, gave them the power to see each other but never touch. That was the true hate the two men held, for though their arguments were biased, they wished to destroy that which kept them apart. But neither had the tools necessary to destroy the crystal clear wall. Neither had the sense to see that their frustration was directed at the common barrier, and not the person seen on the other side.