For I am just a wanderer

was up shawty
was up
you got some pretty hair
thank you you know i got a little bit of spanish in me
girl you aint spanish thats silk wave..

-Pretty Hair by Outcast

Being on an extended vacations makes one dwell on trifling issues such as one’s appearances. As I wait for two more weeks to head straight back to corporate America, I am left wondering how I should present myself. Three years ago, I decided one more time to go au naturel. I chopped off all my weave and relaxed hair and decided to just let it be. I mean, just be. I did periodically have braids but I thought my hair would thank me for making enemies with No Lye Dark & Lovely and embracing Carol’s Daughter. I am not one of those girls who go slow with a little texturizer here and there. I mean, I went all out! I decided that I would shun all chemicals including that god-forsaken sodium laureth sulfate that’s in virtually all shampoos (do you know that stuff is what’s used for heavy duty carpet cleaner?) Well, my new hairdo really worked for my intended intellectual *you-shouldn’t-care-about-my-looks-it’s-my-brains-that-matter,-fool!* look. However, as I headed for the dreaded interview period in school, I had to come to grips with the fact that ummm…America is not in love with afros. Really, even I didn’t take myself seriously with my roudy hairstyle. I had to put in kinky twists and battle with them to form a nice conservative bun. December got job, basked in the glory through graduation.

It’s the summertime. I release my hair and start thinking about the dreaded question: What hairstyle will I wear when I start working? This might not be such an important question for many others, but for one trying to reignite one’s inner Angela Davis, this is huge. I have decided, I’m never going to put relaxer or other chemicals into my hair. I’ve been stricken with bad Southern African hair genes so my hair will never really grow that long, so dreads are out.  I don’t have the time to go to Brooklyn where they charge by the hour for what I know if I had time I could very well do. I resolve to find a Fatou down the street and negotiate to have her do very tiny cornrows every week or so. Believe me, these have to be small in case I have James O. McKinsey roll in his grave thinking that they let Ludacris into the boardroom- I don’t want any mistakes to happen. I know it’s going to be tough but that’s what I have to go through to make my statement and not risk my job. Sometimes one has to sacrifice small things in order to accomplish bigger dreams.

Today I spent time leasing my very first car. My friend, Raymond, was there 100 percent for me. I didn’t realize that buying a car would be such an involved process. Still, I’m so glad I did this. Thanks to Ray, I know more than enough about buying a car. So, in recognition that there are so many of you who are out there trying to buy/lease a car, here are a few tid-bits of info.

1. It’s all about volume, baby: No, the volume controls on your car don’t matter so much. The important thing in buying a locomotive is that you go to dealers with volume. How do we find such dealers, you ask. Well, apparently you need to know the make you want, Honda, Toyota, or God forbid Chevy. Then you go to a place advertised as say Honki-tonk Toyota. Never go to a place that sells a plethora of things. It’s all about supply and demand- dealerships that have a lot of supply will always have more legroom to negotiate a lower price because they have so much inventory to go through.

2. NEVER, EVER, negotiate a car during the weekend! Not only are the salespeople super-eager to rip you off, but they’ve been practicing on all the other souls who have no other time than the weekend to do it. So, if it is not Monday through Thursday, expect to be ripped off.

3. Don’t go alone. That’s self-explanatory. You need a friend for moral support and also to help fend off any axe-weilding salesmen.

4. The price can always go down! Yes, yes, I know this is not like negotiating kangas in Masaai market in Nairobbery but buying a car in America is similar to that experience. You need to have a few dealerships with which you are negotiating and then you can bargain like that. Always make sure the other dealerships know you’ve got options. Say "I was just talking to Honki-tonk Honda and they said that they can do it for $16,000, can you match?". If they know that you could go elsewhere, believe me, they will match!

5. Use your education. Here I’m talking about that wonderful thing in finance classes called Net Present Value. You need to reach into your inner Warren Buffet and figure out really what you are paying. When you hear, "Well, it’s going to be 250 per month plus tax for the next 48 months", you need to know what that really translates to in terms of the present value of all those payments. If they end up being equal to or higher than the MSRP (about this later), then they are ripping you off majorly!

6. Know your MSRPs. This is a figure published by consumer assistance websites such as Kelley Blue Book. It lets you know what the car is really worth. If you pay anything at or above the MSRP, you are being taken advantage of. You need to negotiate some percentage below this.

7. We’re in 2006, everything can be done virtually. If you are conscious about being taken advantage of, you can do all your negotiating on the phone. The advantage of this is that your dealers have no clue what you look like. You might be some professional lady or a bodega manager, it doesn’t matter. So, since I was concerned about being treated unfairly because I’m a woman and black, it helped that the dealer had no clue who I was. It also helps that by the time to show up at the dealership, you will be done with all the haggling. Yes, it means that you might be spending some of your valuable daytime minutes, but in the end it’s worth your trouble.

8. Pray: I found buying a car the most spiritual event I’ve gone through in a long time. Believe me, salespeople are borderline evil (of course there are some good ones out there, like the one I had).  I think the best idea was that I tried to relax as much as possible- even though it was hard! So, reach to some higher power, whatever you believe in and trust that all will go well.

All in all, I think even if I didn’t get the best deal there is, I did my homework.

I finally moved to New Jersey. Paid an arm and a leg for a mover but I have new found respect for anyone named Santiago. I can’t imagine anyone lugging all my crazy stuff up and down my third floor walk up and doing it within 1 hour! I mean, the guy was incredible. And he didn’t break anything- even my cheap a$$ guitar is still intact. I am loving my new place and the weirdness of living alone. It just dawned on me that I have NEVER in my life lived totally by myself. The closest I’ve come is my one corner room in Lamont during junior and senior year at Smith. The whole experience was not helped by Jia screaming at me everytime I made my strange noises to scratch my throat. So, really this is the only time I finally feel like I live totally alone. I don’t know if I like it yet. I desperately miss my wonderful roommate, Queen Cass. I miss her talking to herself, singing really badly and arguing with her about our very different perspectives on religious sexual politics. 

So, why does this whole blog sound a little angsty, you ask. Well, my friends, my newfound angst comes from my recent quest to buy a car in America. In my usual style, I have been doing a lot of research. In addition to perusing Kelley’s Blue Book with obsessive acuity, I have interviewed many a car owner. Our conversations have revealed that I need to approach this task like a pharisee. I need to know what I want and make it known that I know my stuff. That doesn’t bother me much, besides, I just added two more years of mugging to my 15 year academic history. This is no molecular biology, I think. Should be a piece of cake.

Still, a recent conversation on cars left me dumbfounded. I was talking to a friend’s sister about how she acquired her vehicle. Conversation starts like this:

"So, K, I really like your car. How long have you had it?" I ask

"Ummm…a couple of years," she responds.

"Well, I need to buy a car," I explain.

"Good."

"What advice would you offer?" I inquire.

"One thing I have to say is: You need a man… You need a WHITE MAN!" She responds matter-of-factly.

"Uuuhhh…" words fail me.

My sister-friend explains that in this country, there is no way a woman, a black woman, a single black woman even, can expect to get a good deal on a car. The system is not set-up for us. She went on to explain to me how she did an experiment in her own recent car-purchasing experience. The first time she went alone and the second time with her burly fairer-hued colleague. The second time, somehow the car ended up being a few thousand dollars cheaper and the warranty plan much more generous. That’s just how things are around here.

With this knowledge, my fist-weilding-Smith-feminazi tendencies kick in. "I must write a letter!" Better yet, "I must organize a letter-writing campaign." "This is a matter of human rights. The right to commerce for all women!" Thoughts starts coming into my head. I can see it: A Million Woman March for Car-Ownership Equity. I can see the slogans "A Lexus for all of Us" "Every babe deserves a babe" "A cruiser’s not just for them losers" . No wonder Oprah had to wear that blinding red suit to give away all those cars a couple of years ago. She was making history. Imagine all the battles all those women would have had to fight in order to buy a car.

However, as I sobered up, a crushing reality set in. This is not something new. This is how things are in this goddammed country. And if I am to live here for the next few years, I might as well accept the fact that some things just don’t change. So, for now, I need to return that call to my Korean guy friend who is helping me buy a car- he’s far from white but comes close enough. Now I realize the downsides of not having a single close white male friend. I too need a friend called Fred.

So today was one of those Boston blah days. I mean, what is up with this place? Woke up pretty late to go to church. The sun was out so I figured it would be kinda warm. Wore my "uniform"- my cheap corduroy skirt from H&M. Bible under arm and looking all spiffed, I headed to the train. Got outside but found out it was hella cold out there. But I was so late that I didn’t bother getting a warmer jacket. Read one more page of my Donald Miller book "Searching for God knows what". My friend, Nana claims his other book "Blue like jazz" is better, but I like this one too.

Anyway, the bloke, Miller, is a phenom- only because he’s so freakin’ honest. It’s good to hear from a Christian who is not a Republican for a change. I mean, it’s so strange how in this country, Bush has completely made it seem that to believe in Jesus one has to be Pat Robertson’s godchild or something. I can’t stand also how people have started demonizing being a follower of Christ, as if we all don’t give a damn about social justice, as if all we ever talk about is abortion and gay marriage. Give me a break, people! I think it’s even weirder how, especially around the halllowed walls of academia, people think one must be stupid to be religious, let alone be a Christian. I have a brain and I express my faith through everything I do. I am DEFINITELY NOT the poster child of morality, but I love Jesus, just as I am. And I think it’s a shame how myopic American views about religion/faith have become. I am sick of this stereotyping.

For some reason, this blog is starting to sound like I’m justifying my beliefs to y’all, when I really didn’t intend to. I think the bloody weather is making me cranky. I might as well just go get myself some Rooibos and go to bed. God a crazy week comin’ up.

This is why I am moving out of this darn town! Menino needs to learn a thing or two from Bloomberg about the business of mass transit. My experiences are just one of the reasons I hate Boston.

Scene 1: My day today started with me waiting for the friggin’ 66 bus for 45 minutes in the morning to go to a class I teach in Cambridge. I only made it there 15 minutes late because I had left my apartment so  early to try to make it on time. Still, my student gave me that "Puhleez-and-I’m-gonna-believe-that?" look when I told her the story. I figure, I don’t need to impress her- I’m the one dishing out the grades here.

Scene 2: I get on the bus in Cambridge after my class at 11:30 to try to make it to my class at HSPH only to hear that the bus is only running up until Allston and doesn’t go all the way to Brigham Circle. So, I opted to take the train which actually didn’t really delay me too much (a positive point of the day). I get to school, I have a fantastic time teaching a case I wrote. Collect compliments from students and profs alike. Feel really good about myself. Maybe this really isn’t a day from hell. But, no, knowing my luck, it all goes downhill from here.

Scene 3: I finish my class, I rush home to get my exercise clothes so I can go for my dance practice in the evening. I proceed through the crowds to watch my girl finish the marathon. Watch marathon and cry for joy seeing my friend huffing and puffing with other runners. Marathon moment done. I then try to get on the train to get to a presentation I was doing for my class in Cambridge. I wait for the train and it only gets there at 5:30. At this point I’m already doubting my decision to take the train anyway. But I proceed because I absolutely have to do this presentation  otherwise I would get fired from my job. I get on the train and it moves like 15 yards and then waits for fifteen minutes for an eternity. I basically sit on this train for like 1.5 hours with obnoxious redsox fans, a woman who looked like she was about to go into labor and some very tired marathoners. We didn’t get to Harvard Square until 7pm!!!!

At this point, my head is throbbing, I’m freezing in the rain and I am ready to cry. So, I resolve that I can’t turn around and go back to school for my dance practice because it would be too late by the time I make it there. Oh, my misery does not end there. As soon as I get to my presentation, I see a certain someone I really shouldn’t run into at a moment like this. I proceed to pretend like I didn’t see him. Do presentation with my student. Go to Finale for a celebratory dessert and wine.  Mhhh, day ain’t so bad. Boy, was I wrong!

Scene 4: I get a few chocolates from Burdick’s to drop off at my marathon friend’s place to congratulate her. Wait for the bus. I have luck. It’s only 5 minutes and it’s here. Wow, maybe I am on the up and up now. Bus moves for like 1 minute and then, "BANG!". Everyone on bus looks at each other, astonished. Was it the random deer running around harvard stadium? was it a suicidal undergrad? Nah-uh! Bus driver informs us: we got a puncture! All contents of bus have to go into the rain and wait for another bus. I decide, I might as well risk rape and walk along the highway to my friend’s house…In the rain. I do just that. I get to my friend’s place and enjoy some chocolate and conversation.

Time to attempt to take the bus again. Wait 30 minutes by the stadium in the rain. Bus arrives. I decide. This has to be over. It is indeed over. I’m so glad I get a new day tommorrow. Thank you, Lawd! My devotional this morning talked about rejoicing in our trials…umhhh…I don’t know, man. Right now, I’m not feeling joy.