Black Guy Perspective – Observations by KL Martin

by KL Martin • October 14, 2019 • Arts & EntertainmentComments (0)99

New Jersey director, screenwriter, producer, music manager and, of course, comedian KL Martin is a modern day Renaissance man. And he is funny as hell. His Facebook series of perspectives posts are both popular and entertaining. We decided to present them here in a series of posts – Ed

BLACK GUY PERSPECTIVE #146

I got offered a job a couple months ago to be an assistant farm manager (doing their books part time… but I didn’t realize that at the time.)

During the interview, I looked at him plainly in the face and said:

“Don’t let the body fool you … antique farm equipment, generational (1700s -present) is not on my resume”.

If it was possible to get fired before you get hired… I think that moment was it.

So this is a true story. I make it a point to laugh at myself and the situations around me.

Nothing is off limits honestly.

I genuinely thought it was bizarre to be asked to come into the interview, but didn’t really sweat it. That was until I saw this man’s face light up as I walked up the driveway.

I know that look well.

I call it “auction block” racism.  It’s how I imagine my forefathers were examined when they first got here. Don’t get uncomfortable reading that by the way, I am pretty far removed from that by evidence of both my future wife and my choice in dance moves at many a bar mitzvah I’ve attended… We’re cool, white people.

It’s not malicious or mean intent normally, but they see me at 6’11” with an athletic build, and suddenly, middle aged to elderly white men get this super weird urge to slap my arms repeatedly like they’re checking the tires on a car. For some reason, the name Kevbo comes out of nowhere as well.

Anyway, all of these things have happened, and I Immediately realized that this wasn’t what I thought it was, an interview for an accounting gig. Upon this realization, I decided I was going to make this as uncomfortable as humanly possible.

Boy did I succeed.

There I was, in a room with an admin and his secretary. He looked over my resume and I just blurted this out.

The secretary chuckled quietly, and he asked me one more question before saying they’d “be in touch”. That business talk for “please leave, we will never speak to you again”.

I did so with a wide smile on my face.

BLACK GUYS PERSPECTIVE #133

I like the Beatles. I do but… I could go years without hearing them and be fine.

Conversely,

I’m pretty sure there’s still an outstanding warrant for my arrest… since I damn near stole a car in Rio to get to the Copacabana to see The Rolling Stones in 2012.

Sure, this is by black people standards, the least black debate to ever get into…

You guys keep taking my black card…I keep printing more.

So, I’m cool with the Beatles. I have moments where I think the craze for them, even now 50 years later, is a bit over blown at times, but I respect it.

My love for the Stones is well known. I discovered them at the age of 9 during my now 27 year plus love affair with all things vinyl.  I am pretty sure every day of my life I listen to at least one song from the Stones and AC/DC.

This is no exaggeration.

So, my foray in grand theft auto isn’t a surprise to anyone who knows me well. That actually came out wrong but whatever.

Short Story: The year was 2012, and the Rolling Stones were playing the Copacabana anniversary show or something like that. I was playing in either Uruguay or Venezuela, and made frequent trips to Rio.

It’s cheap to do so between countries in South America for the most part. Safety is debatable, but I’ll save that for another perspective.

Anyway, I was with a few teammates who were just as adventurous as I was and HAMMERED right off the plane. We didn’t initially go to Rio with the intention of seeing the Stones, but the plane we were on was FULL of foreigners who flew from halfway around the world to see this show.

(Timeout, Mom, you need to stop reading this. I’ll give you a few seconds.)

.

.

.

OK, so we get outside the airport, and after walking around magically finding more booze, we run into a line so long that it actually had a party going within it. Makeshift tables, food, more booze and half naked women playing some version of cornhole (Cornholio?). It was loud and raucous, but what was this line for?

It was the taxi line. Shit.

Not to get into too much detail, but I walked to a set of taxis with my teammates. The driver was stuffing his face with food. I gave him money to drive us the 16 miles to the Copacabana. He took the money and said ten minutes. He then proceeded to go into the bathroom, and I realized he wasn’t in a rush. 

But I was. 

Also, I gave him a 10-dollar bill rolled over some receipts so whether by car or on foot, I had to get out of there.

I got in the driver seat, peeling out, and drove at least 10 of those miles before we realized that it was going to turn into a parking lot. Traffic was bad. We abandoned the car walked the next 6 miles before climbing the back area of the stage and sneaking in along the front of the stage.

There are WAY WORSE parts to the story, especially those last 6 miles, but for the sake of Ed keeping me on, I’ll just let you guys find me on Instagram or ask me in person.




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