“Can you help me get a job?”
A tall, soft-spoken, African-American man with sharp features stood before me. I was in East Harlem on Park Ave. The Metro North thundered on the tracks that towered over us.
I waited for the train to pass.
“We can try to connect you to someone who can. What’s your name?”
“Zatrinoto.”
“I’m going to need help spelling that one, bro.” He spelled it out. “Do you have a nickname? Something your friends call you?”
He smiled. “Call me, Z.”
“Z? I can handle that. So what kind of job are you looking for?”
“Anything, man. I have my degree in Business Management from Monroe College, but I have this thing where I don’t work well with others.”
“Oh yeah? That surprises me, you seem so chill.”
“Nah. I have never been able to contain my anger. Someone will tell me to do something or look at me wrong and I’ll just lose it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never been able to hold down a job. I’m going to get checked out by a psychiatrist next week. I can’t keep going like this.”
“That’s smart. I think a wise philosopher once said, ‘know thyself.’ If you don’t know what’s going on in your own head or why you respond the way you do, you won’t be able to take preventative steps to avoid those problems. You’re doing the right thing. The smart thing.”
“Thanks, man. I just need to get my sh*t together. I have a little girl and I can’t see her because of an assault charge that’s pending. They think I’m not safe. It really pisses me off though, because I’ve only ever gotten physical with other guys, I don’t hurt women or kids. I’d never hurt my little girl. But right now I’m living in the shelter and because of the craziness there I know I’m going to get thrown back into jail and I’ll never get to be there for my daughter.”
“When was the last time you got into a fight?”
“Last week. I got into a fight with my roommate because he’s friends with a drug dealer who comes into our room. I told him I’ve got to stay out of trouble. He can’t be bringing that stuff into my space. I want to stay out of jail so I can see my little girl. But he wouldn’t listen. He said, ‘you’re in a f*ckin’ shelter! You can’t tell me who I can or can’t bring in here.’ So I snapped, and I punched him the face.”
“Dude… How did you stay out of jail?”
“He didn’t tell the staff at the shelter that I hit him. But I don’t know how I can keep living like this. I’m doing anger management, but it’s not helping.” He looked down at his feet.
Defeated.
“Well, here’s the deal man: I’m going to refer you to a job training and placement program that’s nearby. They are going to call you to enroll you into a program that will get you OSHA certified and hopefully working as soon as possible. But maybe just as importantly, next time you’re in a stressful situation, just text me. I want to be able to pray for you in that moment. We all need friends to talk us off the ledge sometimes. I’d love to be your friend.”
He looked up, surprised. “Seriously? I don’t think it will help, but I do need a friend.”
“Me too, bro. And I’ll text you the next time I feel like punching someone in the face too. We can help each other. That’s what friends are for. And one more thing: if you ever lose it again and get locked up, please call me. Whatever happens, I’ll be there.”
