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Average Ordinary Black Man

Just one of those days, man. I woke up to the sound of my roommates barking over the breakfast table, and they were their usual grumpy selves. Once upon a time, the idea of sharing a townhouse in the suburb of Barrhaven, Ontario, with a couple of guys sounded like a dream come true. Welcome to my nightmare. I showered, got dressed and got out.

"Hello there, I'll have the medium griot please," I said to the tall, short-haired and very pretty, chocolate-hued fortysomething Haitian lady behind the counter at Creole Sensations restaurant in the heart of Vanier. I waited for my meal, then paid and put the plate of brown rice, fried plantains and goat meat in a plastic bag, wrapped it and put it in my backpack. I dropped a toonie in the tip box, and then flashed the lady a bright smile as I headed out.

"Have a good day, Stephen, come again," said the owner, a stocky, bearded old Haitian dude who sat at a corner by the window, a copy of the Haitian newspaper Le Nouvelliste in his hand. I nodded at the old man and headed out. I've been coming here for years and years, you see. Once upon a time, I lived on Donald Street, a couple of blocks away. I love Haitian food and come to this restaurant as much for the cuisine as to connect with my people.

The day started rough with the rude awakening I got from my loud roommates, but now things were looking up. I crossed the street, dodging the usually murderous Vanier traffic and barely caught the number 12 bus going to Blair Station. The bus was packed, and I ended up sitting next to the proverbial old white dude. From the way this bozo looked at me, I knew I was in for something. Lo and behold, the old creep did not let me down.

"Cover up, please," I said sharply as the old white dude sitting next to me began flashing me a fake smile while coughing forcefully. I know that cough. White folks and certain other minorities like to do that around black folks. I know what I am talking about and I am not imagining things. I simply pay attention. The old dude looked at me angrily as if wondering whether or not I did address him. Yes old man, I am onto your passive aggressive racist bullshit. The old buzzard got out at the next stop, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The other people sitting on the bus looked at me. I'm a big and tall black man in my late twenties. Even though I don't go to church anymore, I still wear my Sunday best every Sunday, out of habit. I look like I'm coming from church or something. When the bus reached Blair Station, I got off and went to Walmart, where I bought a couple of orange crush bottles. I crossed the street and headed to the Silver City movie theater, which some fool decided to rename Scotiabank Theater of Ottawa. Whatever. Same place with the overpriced food and unfriendly staff. Big frigging deal.

"Um, could you please watch it?" I said sharply to the dude walking in the row behind me, as I sat inside theater two. I decided to see the movie Independence Day, the new one without Will Smith. As is my custom, I sit in the very front of the movie theater. You know those four rows that are separated from the others, right next to the screen? I usually sit on the third or fourth. I like to be as far away as possible from the sneezing, coughing, spitting, seat-kicking and seat-bumping bozos patronizing the theater. Hail isolation!

The dude walking behind me, some burly white dude with a beard wearing a blue shirt, shot me a look but didn't say shit. I resumed watching the movie, and when it ended, I went to the washroom. Guess who I ran into in there? Mr. Blue Shirt. I "accidentally" bumped him with my elbow as I stood at the urinal next to his, and he got out of there pronto. Smirking, I finished my business then washed my hands. I exited the movie theater, and headed to Blair Station. I flashed my bright green summer U-Pass to the bus driver, a smiling young Indian woman in a blue uniform, and got on the bus.

"Damn she's cute," I whispered to myself as I eyeballed the hot Chinese chick in the long white shirt and booty shorts sitting across from me. The 95 heading to Tunney's Pasture Station had come by Blair and since I was heading to Bayview Station, it was right up my alley. It's Sunday, the very first Sunday after Canada Day 2016, and as far as I knew, the Carleton University campus was closed but I figured I'd find a computer and chill for a few hours.

The bus rolled on, barreling down the streets of Ottawa. The Asian cutie started bobbing her head this way and that, while listening to music with her headphones. Hot damn, I totally wanted to holler, but didn't get the chance. When the bus reached the University of Ottawa area, Miss Asian Cutie got off. I took one last look at her thick derriere in them shorts. Oh, Lord. Happy sigh. Hey, you don't think I scared her, do you? I have a habit of gawking when it comes to cuties with thick butts. Not my fault. It's encoded in my DNA.

As I reached Bayview Station, I turned on my phone, which I turned off in the theater, and realized I had thirty percent of my power left. To make matters worse, I realized that I left my phone case somewhere. It's a real special one, given to me by an alumni of Carleton University. Damn. The phone case is red and black, and has the Carleton University logo and my name on it. This sucks.

Once I turned on my data connection, I put it on YouTube and listened to the song "Black And Yellow" featuring the Transformers. I was halfway down the hill, heading to the O-Train platform when I realized I had to piss. There's a lot of construction going on at Bayview and in the surrounding areas. Luckily it's Sunday, so no construction guys around. I crossed the fence, ignoring the "do not enter" sign and ducked behind some rocks.

"Sweet relief," I whispered to myself as I took a whizz. As I held my dick in my hands, I thought of the Asian cutie on the bus. Damn. I visualized that thick ass of hers in them booty shorts. Got my dick harder than a rock. I envisioned her bending over before me and shaking that ass. I stroked my dick, fantasizing about gripping the Asian cutie's hips and thrusting my dick into her pussy. Didn't take me long to cum. I wiped it away with my hand, and then tucked my dick into my pants. I readjusted my clothes, then went to the train platform as if nothing had happened.

"Stephen, is that you?" I was listening to music, waiting for the O-Train when a feminine voice called for my attention. I looked up to see a vision of African beauty. Shay, a black chick I had a law class with two years ago at Carleton University. Clad in a white dress with black stripes which showed off her curvy figure, Shay looked real good. Smiling, I walked up to her.

"Hello Shay, good to see you again," I said as I shook her hand. Hot damn. Shay looked real good, and smelled even better. I hadn't seen her in a long time. When I met Shay, I was seeing this white chick named Dominique and although Shay liked me, I didn't do Jack about it because I was so into Dominique. Well, a year ago Dominique dropped my ass and I'm currently single. As we waited for the train, Shay and I talked about old times.

"Did you follow the Giomeshi trial?" Shay asked me, and I nodded. As a law student, this controversial case definitely caught my attention. Shay and I talked about the infamous media maven Jian Giomeshi and the women he clashed with, in and out of court. As we talked, some short Asian dude who was standing nearby watched us. Next thing I know, this bozo jumped into our conversation. Even worse, Shay seemed to welcome this. What the fuck?

"The prosecutor made a lot of mistakes in the case," said the short Asian dude, and as I wondered how to get rid of him without seeming rude to Shay, the little bozo began dominating our conversation. To make matters even worse, it's a short trip from Bayview Station to Carleton University, so before I knew it, my stop was coming up. Isn't that a frigging blip?

"Have a good day, guys, this is my stop," I said to Shay and Mr. Conversation Dominator, and then I walked out of there. The campus was empty, just like me. I wandered around for a bit, and finally made my way to Loeb Building. I found a standing computer station, dragged a chair next to it, and logged on. In the old days, there would be at least one computer lab open but campus security locks them up during holidays. Major bummer, dude.

I browsed YouTube for a while, uploaded my most recent selfies on Facebook and then wondered about whether or not to watch some porn. I went to X-Videos, and watched Middle-Eastern porn star Nadia Ali get it on with black porno stud Rico Strong. Got me harder than a rock. I clicked out of it once I got worked up, and then logged off. I walked to the train station, and got off at Bayview. As I reached Bayview, I saw a bus 95 coming. I ran after it. I missed it. Fucker.

"Hello again," said a vaguely familiar-looking and quite cute Indian female driver, and the front door of the bus opened up for me. I looked at her, smiled and showed her my U-Pass. The driver and I were the only ones on this bus, the 94 Riverview, which was heading towards Barrhaven but not quite. I'd have to get off at Fallowfields Station and wait for a 95 bus going to Barrhaven.

"Ma'am, you look real familiar, have I seen you somewhere before?" I asked, and the young Indian woman smiled, and nodded. I smiled as I realized that she was the driver of the bus I boarded a few hours ago. The very same one where I'd apparently creeped out the Chinese cutie with the big booty. Damn. I know Ottawa is small, but what are the odds, eh?

"I'm Pooja, and I believe you lost this," she said with a smile, and pulled a red and black object out of the glove compartment. My eyes went wide as I realized that somehow, this lady had recovered my phone case, the expensive and definitely special one given to me by an alumni who once served as a TA in a difficult law class I took a few years ago. Damn, man. For once, I didn't know what to say.

"Thanks, Pooja, I'm Stephen, and I owe you one," I said, smiling in gratitude at Pooja as I took the case from her. Pooja smiled back and then, amazingly, she winked. I grinned, and remained standing near her, right behind the yellow line, as more and more people boarded the bus. As we headed toward the west end, Pooja and I talked. A newcomer to Canada by way of Kerala, India, Pooja was studying business at Algonquin College, and hoped to work for the government someday.

"They tell me that if you don't speak French, the government won't hire you," Pooja said to me as we reached Baseline station. Lots of folks got off, and a few got on. I looked at this cute, friendly Indian cutie, and wondered what to say. Alright, like a typical Haitian dude, I can be full of myself at times and a bit of an opportunist when it comes to the fair sex. However, I do recognize a special lady when I see one. Time for this trickster to get serious.

"French is an easy language to learn, I tutor in French at Carleton," I said, lying through my teeth, and then I pulled an old card out of my wallet, scribbled my name and number on it and then handed it to Pooja. This I did as the bus reached Fallowfields Station, and Pooja took it, then smiled slyly as the bus came to a half. The passengers exited, but I remained. I was about to say goodbye, when Pooja cocked an eyebrow.

"I'll take you up on that offer, Stephen, say, can my husband come too?" Pooja asked, and I smiled even as my heart sank. Seriously, can a brother catch a break in this universe? I feel like the whole world is against me, man. From the moment I woke up to this very damn moment, the cosmos has been kicking my ass. The dude in the theater. That bozo who hollered at Shay right in front of me. The Asian cutie on the bus taking off because of me. And now this. I don't like it one bit. There, I frigging said it!

"Um, sure, ma'am, the more the merrier," I said meekly to a still smiling Pooja, even as I sorely regretted boarding this particular bus. Seriously, I should have kept my black ass at Bayview Station and waited for the 95 heading to Barrhaven Center/Marketplace Station instead of catching the 94 Riverview. At least I would have been spared this latest humiliation...

"Just messing with you, cutie, I'm not married, sorry, I couldn't resist," Pooja said to me, playfully slapping my arm, and then, amazingly she winked. I smiled and shrugged, trying to play it off. I put on my best imitation of a Will Smith cocksure grin, looked Pooja up and down, smiled confidently and wished her goodnight. I walked off the bus, did not look back and then Pooja drove away. Five minutes later, the 95 bus came along and I got on.

"Damn, son, you look like you've had a rough day," said the bus driver, an old white dude. Usually, I hate it when people use such patronizing language with me, but this old dude smiled sympathetically and even offered me a water bottle, which I took. The bus was half empty, which was surprising given that it's Sunday night and a lot of folks like to go hang out downtown, and then come back to Barrhaven, Ottawa's most moneyed spot. Whatever.

"Oh, man, I had a rough one, thanks for the drink," I said and the old man smiled and drove on. It's a short ride from Fallowfields Station to Barrhaven Center, and we arrived in a few minutes. I nodded at the old dude as I got off the bus, and decided to grab a poutine at the nearby Pizza Pizza restaurant before heading home. It was only ten o'clock and my roommates, who unfortunately stuck around for the holiday weekend, would still be up. Bummer.

"Hello Stephen, it's Pooja," read a text message from an unknown number, and I grinned from ear to ear. I hastily saved the number, and then walked into Pizza Pizza and ordered myself a poutine and an orange crush. As I sat there, savoring my meal, I pondered whether to reply to Pooja right away, or let some time pass. Fuck it, you don't get anywhere by being cautious. In fact, being overly cautious has messed things up for me more than once.

"Hello Pooja, thanks again for helping a brother out, let me know how I can make it up to you, coffee, or whatever you want," I replied, exactly seventeen minutes after Pooja texted me. I bit into my poutine, and sipped my orange crush. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. What's taking this chick so long? Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should have waited longer before replying to Pooja. Damn. Maybe she thinks I'm desperate.

"Facebook me, then we can go from there," Pooja said, and she told me her last name, which is something I'm going to have to learn to pronounce, seriously. Nevertheless, I looked her up on Facebook and sent her a friend request. Moments later, Pooja added me. The profile said single, and featured her standing next to a bunch of Indian girls, in traditional attire. I smiled happily, as I browsed Pooja's profile. Cute and friendly, eh? I can work with this. Perhaps my luck is finally starting to turn.

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