Jamaicans

Jamaicans are great people, says the Jamaican. I’ll admit, I’m biased.

Jamaicans are also not so pleasant people. In my very short time on this earth, I have had the great pleasure of working with, interacting with and even living with people from whole heap a different countries. Working among Jamaicans has, to date, been my most unpleasant experience.

Objects in life react strangely when in contact with other objects. Iron expands when it comes in contact with heat, for example. I scream when strange men talk to me, another example. Jamaicans become insufferable when given a status, the example relevant to this blog post.

This status could present itself in the form of being put in charge of a small group of people, given a security uniform and told to guard 3 floors of a run down apartment building, a Dr or Prof or even a Mrs. before a last name, or a few extra dollars on a pay check. When these things come in contact with our realities, we warp into things unrecognizable.

Whatever form this status appears in, it is almost as if said status enters the Jamaican’s body through his/her ass and flies straight to the brain of said Jamaican. Last summer, I worked at a very beautiful establishment in the hospitality industry and I have seen this contact with status change the very essence of Jamaicans.

Managers, after dressing their words in their Sunday best and cous cous perfume when speaking to a guest will a mere second later address a coworker with words and a tone freshly encased in mongrel dawg shit. Now, I work in the same industry on the North Coast and it’s saddening to see what we become when we are granted the tiniest unit of power. More than anything, it’s disappointing how quickly we forget ourselves when other people bestow power on us.

But, I still maintain that Jamaicans are great people. We’re great at being great, but it never fails to shock me how adept we are at being consciously unpleasant.