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I was pissed. I hated to work hard for that lady in the first place, but I had done it with the idea that we would be munching on pizza or sandwiches by 1:30 instead of the crackers and potted meat that I had packed in my bag. Nope. No lunch. Just a kick out the door.

Adding a little drama to the afternoon, the owner insisted on searching all four of our bags as we exited the store. To me, it wasn’t a fair gesture since all of our bags had been stowed away in a corner while we worked. It seemed like one more opportunity for her to represent her control over us.

I didn’t have a problem with her checking my bag. But Mario did. As we would later find out, he hadn’t stolen anything, but he had had just about enough of the owner’s absolute rule.

“Naw, forget that. You can go ahead and forget about checkin’ my bag. You know good and well I ain’t steal nuthin’ from your stupid store. Ain’t none of your clothes gonna fit me, anyway.”

“April, call security. Tell them we have a shoplifter.”

“Security? Are you serious? Yeah, a’ight. Hey, April, call security. And tell ’em to stop by the Nike store to pick up some running sneakers on their way over here, cuz I’m a fast mother.”

With that he marched out the door—with us in tow. I had just met these guys, but I was learning that if there was one thing you couldn’t touch, it was the chemistry of four poverty-stricken workers standing up against abusive higher power. We never confronted security, but even before he opened his bag later to show us, I knew that Mario hadn’t stolen anything. He couldn’t have. He had been working with me on the other side of the store all day.

Our concern for confronting security waned as we sat around back waiting for the van to come pick us up. And waiting. And waiting. Among many other lessons, I was discovering that few people in my current surroundings had any concern for time. Ann did when it came time to wake us up in the morning, and Harold did when it came time to check us in at night, but the bottom line was that my clock was set on the convenience of everybody else.

After we had waited for an hour, I garnered the nerve to go back in the baby clothing store to ask the owner what the situation was with our ride and if I could perhaps use the phone to call them again.

I couldn’t tell if I was more upset by the fact that she said, “No, they should be on their way,” or if it was the beautiful spread of meats, cheeses, and other sandwich toppings of which there was undoubtedly a surplus. Whatever it was, I lost it. It went a little something like this:

“Y’know what, lady? I’m sorry if this offends you at all, but you suck. And I mean that in the most mature way possible. I mean, here we are, four hardworking men at your service today, and you and the rest of these ladies do nothing but abuse us. You boss us around like we’re just your little servants here to do whatever you want. Sure, maybe that’s what we are, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat us the way you do. I don’t know what it is with people like you—maybe you think you’re better than the rest of us; maybe you’re trying to vent your own insecurities. Who knows? That’s none of my business. But what is my business is that we came and worked hard for you today, and you treated us like shit. And that’s just not right.”

Even though I clearly did not pose a threat to anyone, I was surprised she even let me finish. By the end of my discourse, my tone had cooled from disrespectful to reasoning as in, Don’t you understand how you’re acting? But her state of mind did not fancy reasoning. She wanted me out.

“April, call security.”

“April, there’s no need. My point’s been made. I’m leaving. But I’m taking some turkey with me. And this roll. And is that honey must—”

“Out!” She was not amused.

In hindsight, I should have grabbed the whole platter and taken it outside to my new friends. I would have been a hero. They would have thrown me on their shoulders and paraded me