It was early Tuesday morning, and it was her first day back to work from their short Christmas break. Bacardi paraded through the office with her tight mink coat and designer bag and started to chitchat with her coworkers so they could see the new items that her wonderful and beautiful daughter had bought her for the holidays. Some coworkers complimented her coat, but many ignored her and the coat, bag, watch, and shoes altogether. Some even snickered at the outfit she had on behind her back, even uttering the words, “Ghetto trash.”
Bacardi just knew she was the shit, though. She wanted folks to hate on her. Everything she had on was expensive and stylish.
She went to her cubicle to start her day as an ACS caseworker. The office was busy with cases, and Bacardi had a backlog of work to do. In the past year alone, the agency had received over seventy thousand abuse reports. Most times she felt overworked and underpaid, but it was a city job with benefits that she truly needed.
Before Bacardi sat down at her cubicle, she noticed her friend Keisha coming in to work. Bacardi was about to take off her coat and start her day, but she decided to keep it on for just a bit longer so Keisha could see her in it. Not only were they best friends, but they had been coworkers for many years now. Every chance she got, Bacardi would brag about her beautiful daughter Charlie and her amazing boyfriend God to whoever would listen—especially to Keisha.
Keisha walked toward Bacardi and stared at the ill-fitting coat and the red bottoms with the thick socks, and she immediately knew that her friend was wearing her daughter’s clothes. But she smiled brightly at her friend, gave Bacardi a friendly hug, and said
, “Damn, girl, that coat is gorgeous. And shoot, you got red bottoms too?”
Bacardi beamed. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. She absorbed the compliments pompously and then, with the snap of a finger, she went completely dark. Her smile transformed into a hard frown aimed at Keisha. “You got my muthafuckin’ money?” she asked in a low tone.
Keisha didn’t want to discuss it at the moment, especially at work, but Bacardi wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “I’m putting it together right now, Bernice. But I thought you gave me two weeks, and you know I didn’t get paid yet. We both get paid on the same day.”
“Keisha, don’t be tryin’ to play me. You fucked up my kids’ Christmas!”
“I told you before, I didn’t steal your money. But I’ll get you your money. Show you how good a friend I am.”
Bacardi frowned. She hated to wait, especially for something that belonged to her in the first place. But Keisha was a good friend and she always kept her word, so Bacardi didn’t push the issue. Instead, she decided to change the subject.
“Anyway, how was your Christmas?” Bacardi asked her.
“It was okay.”
“Well, you know my Christmas was fabulous, as you can tell,” boasted Bacardi as she did a twirl with her arms extended so Keisha could take everything in.
“I see.”
“Charlie came through for us on Christmas Day. She and her man came through with a boatload of gifts for everyone. I love my firstborn.”
Keisha smiled while Bacardi continued to brag about all the magnificent gifts her family received. Not once did she mention Chanel. Keisha knew they treated Chanel like shit. She slightly tilted her head and raised her eyebrow.
“Damn, y’all came off lovely this year, but where would Charlie and God get the money to buy so much nice stuff? And what did Chanel get?”
Bacardi didn’t like the questions. She quickly spewed, “I got work to do,” and then she turned her back to Keisha and sat down at her cubicle—conversation over.
Keisha shrugged. She knew her friend and her family like Mayweather knows boxing. Keisha pivoted and started to walk to her cubicle. On her way, she overheard one coworker say to another, “Bernice is a hot damn mess walking into work looking like that. She thinks she cute!”
“I know, right?”
They laughed at Bacardi’s expense. Keisha didn’t respond to the insult. She minded her business and went to work.
The first day back to work felt long and dragged out. Phones rang constantly with reports of abuse during the Christmas holidays, and supervisors and caseworkers were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. There were too many neglected, abused, and dysfunctional families in New York City to count. It was one horror story after another. Caseworkers were working feverishly to prevent another Nixzmary Brown. After the little girl’s death in 2006, the department made some changes to the system, and the last thing they needed was another child’s death on their watch.
Thirty minutes before quitting time, Bacardi and Keisha were given a removal assignment in the Bronx to place three children in protective custody. Bacardi was tired. It had been a long day. Her feet were hurting because of the too-high shoes she wore, and the mink coat was strangling her arms. She was becoming highly aggravated, and she wanted to go home on time, soak in a nice hot bath, smoke weed, and drink some Hennessy.
Her job as a caseworker for ACS wasn’t easy. The hours were grueling and the supervisors were overbearing. The pay was decent, but it wasn’t life changing. The worst part was going out in the field to handle the reported cases of child neglect, endangerment, and abuse—sometimes dealing with hostile parents and an unwelcoming environment.
Keisha was ready to go, but Bacardi was hesitant.
“Let’s just try and beat the traffic into the Bronx,” said Keisha.
Bacardi sighed and grumbled. “You think I want to go to the Bronx at this hour and deal with this case?”
“It’s our job, Bernice. These children need to be removed by day’s end.”
Bacardi sighed heavily. The office was nearly empty. She coolly looked around her surroundings and came up with an idea. She looked at Keisha and suggested, “Look, why don’t we just drive to the home and sit for a moment in your car, and then note that the mother wasn’t present during our visitation? We can follow up on the case another day. If we do this knock for a removal, we might be there for hours. I’m fuckin’ tired, Keisha.”