The Joys of Diversity

by Rev. Kenneth Molyneaux

I.

    Leaning back in his comfortable gray easy chair and relaxing after a laborious day’s work, Robert Schaf flicked open a can of beer that soothed his nerves and set him at ease. Being a postal worker had its perks but it was a difficult job. Only the arduous memories of the day came to Robert’s mind, but he took comfort in the fact that he could now enjoy his favorite hobby--watching television. As he grabbed the bag of potato chips beside him, Robert switched the delightful tube of images on.

    Mr. Schaf was a middle aged man with short brown hair and dull brown eyes. He was of medium build due to the exercise he got on the job and so his rather unhealthy diet didn’t appear to affect him much. The gray stubble that was scarcely visible on his face revealed his rather aged condition. Robert was currently dressed casually in a blue pair of old jeans and a slightly sullied white T-shirt.

    Alone lived Robert in a three bedroom house where he had grown up. His parents had died and left the house to their only precious son. Rob presently lounged in the living room that was neatly decorated with expensive furniture. The television set especially was quite opulent as it was larger than Robert himself! The speakers for such an elegant piece of art were pleasantly seasoned about the room. The other furniture in the room seemed minuscule and vulgar in comparison to the mighty display of technology that Robert adored.

    The summer night poured its darkness into the room and the brilliance of the television mesmerized its viewer. In between gulps of beer and crunchings of potato chips, Robert traveled through the different realms he saw before him. His trek to find something worthwhile continued on for quite some time until he resolved to hunt for the guide that would illuminate his favorite shows. As he set his food and beverage down, a deluge of bright and enthusiastic images stopped his actions. Intrigued by this new show, he resumed sitting comfortably in his chair.

    With grand, epic music came a beautiful background from some exotic location. A variegated crowd of exquisitely well dressed patrons came into view. There were Africans, Chinese, Mexicans, Palestinians and many more. The noble spectacle entranced Robert and he ardently anticipated the title of such a sublime show. After what seemed like agonizing moments, a person who appeared to be of African and Mexican blood announced the title of the show: "The Joys of Diversity".

    Robert’s excitement and titillation grew as the show foreshadowed things to come by showing glimpses of the glamorous people on the show in their routine schedules. Fancy houses, sports cars, leisurely recreation and other joys splashed merrily across the screen. Enamored by such a wondrous display, Robert laughed with joy as he waited for the actual show to begin. A set of humdrum commercials came first, but Rob’s persistence and patience were heightened as the resplendent glow in his eyes signaled that he could wait hours, or even days, for his treat. At last, the show resumed.

    An African lady splendidly dressed in a stunning black dress was the first of the assembly to be introduced by the host. Mrs. Kfumi was her name and her tale was besought with difficulty, but she had prevailed. She spoke of the evil racism exuded by the horrible white man and how she had suffered miserably from its pestilence-like effect. By grasping onto her roots, however, she was able to smash this plague and achieve success through the wonderful, affirmative programs that had been set up for victims like her. Today, she was living in a beach house overlooking the alluring ocean while she cared for her large family.

    Robert was overcome with intense emotion as he listened to the valiant tale of triumphant overcoming. Tears surged down his face as he realized the horrors his people had foisted on Mrs. Kfumi and other minorities. Robert was German and he was realizing how vile not only the Germans were, but all those of European ancestry. He was glad that programs had been set up to help the hapless casualties of discrimination but he knew those responsible for the horrible anguish should be punished. Resolved to make a difference, Robert made up his mind to help spread the glorious cause of diversity!

    Meanwhile, the show went on as more and more diverse elements of the population were displayed. Each one had a similar tale of persecution by the white man but redemption was achieved through the beneficent forces of multiculturalism. The heroism and courage shown was beautiful and breathtaking to gaze upon. The atmosphere of happiness in their roots and hatred of the perfidious white man was enveloping and enlightening.

    With every iniquitous offense committed by people of his race, Robert hissed in fierce enmity; with every redemption he cheered in mirthful joviality and celebration. By the time all the successful people’s stories had been told, Robert had been worked into an excited state of thrill. Like a child learning what is right and wrong in life, Robert was shown horrifying evil and wondrous good.

    At the concluding climax of the prestigious presentation, a call for action was succinctly asked for in the form of donations. Robert, eager to pledge his support, scrambled out of his chair but stumbled over the empty cans of beer that had been amassed beside him. He had been eagerly guzzling his refreshing beverage and the twelve pack that always accompanied him on his television-watching sprees was empty, with the cans now scattered about on the floor from his disruption of them. Scantly phased by such a minor disturbance, Robert galloped to his phone and dialed the number listed on his mammoth television screen.

    Anxiously he waited for an answer and when he heard the operator, who identified herself as Mrs. Stein, he quickly blurted out, "I want to donate! Racism must be crushed!"

    "How much would you like to donate friend," came the cordial, effeminate reply.

    Shocked by this simple question, Robert thought for a moment before saying, "A lot!"

    The operator pleasantly responded and requested of Robert his name and address. Robert was forthcoming as he related the required information. Hanging up the telephone, he sprang back into his favorite chair to resume his enjoyable pastime as he realized he was far too energized to sleep, although it was already past his usual bedtime.

    Still reveling in the majestic masterpiece of entertainment that he had the grand fortune to behold, Robert was about to change the station as "The Joys of Diversity" had ended. Much to his satisfaction and amazement, he realized that the show was being broadcast again! Robert eagerly watched the show until the pull of sleep was too much for him and he drifted off into the phantasmagoric realm of dreams.

    The following day was one of brightness and joy for Robert. Along his mail delivery route in the plush suburbs, he jubilantly perambulated. It was an extremely agreeable summer day with the blazing sun enshrouding the earth in its loving warmth. The birds chirped playfully and a soft breeze blew gently about the land which kept the furnace-like sun from making life too unbearable.

    As he deposited the mail in the mailboxes of the well-to-do, Robert couldn’t help but recall the energizing scenes of loveliness that he had seen the night before. He wanted to do more to promote the holy righteousness he must champion, but he was unable to ascertain what he could accomplish outside of donating to the worthwhile charitable organization that sponsored the show. Robert’s concentration on the matter was so intense that he was caught unaware when an older man suddenly greeted him.

    The aged man was well dressed and spoke very amicably, "Good afternoon Bob. Great day, isn’t it?"

    Realizing that the foul antagonist of the world--the white male--was right in front of him, Robert became seized with holy indignation. Rage and fierce anger swept over him in a crashing wave that showed itself plainly on his furious countenance. It was clearly evident that ridding the universe of this manipulating, destructive force would be a wonderful service to mankind. The expensive clothes the man wore were obviously the fruit of the hapless minority who he had ruthlessly exploited. The eloquent and polite demeanor of the horrible rat appeared sincere, but Robert knew it was a simple facade to fool the masses.

    Although the impulse of exterminating the white rat flourished attractively in his mind, Rob contained himself. He wouldn’t kill the criminal, but he would show his outrage. Robert promptly flung the nefarious occupant’s mail onto the ground as he glared into the blue eyes of the atrocious devil. Stunned, the white man scrambled about for his letters in a haphazard fashion without uttering a single word.

    Still bearing the visage of divine anger, Robert took pleasure in the surge of war juices that pulsed through his body. As he walked to the next house, he saw the bright poodle owned by the despicable "Mr. Jones" of 755 Maple Ave. The proud dog exuded hauteur and jumped excitedly over to him in playful delight. Robert smiled jovially before pulling out a can of mace and generously spraying the white poodle with its stinging poison.

    Beaming proudly at this noble deed, Robert stood over the dog who was now whimpering and rolling about in pain. After enjoying his act of heroism for a few moments, he carried on in his route but not before giving a good, hard kick to the abominable creature’s skull.

    Robert was bathed in honor as he realized how altruistic his great actions were. His day swiftly wore on as he mechanically performed his job while cogitating further actions against the evil beasts of power who reigned ignominiously over the country, nay the world. Robert imagined himself to be a resplendent paladin on a glorious crusade for the oppressed and who would lead the forces of light to total victory. As he ruminated these lofty visions of grandeur, a fetid stench of excrement overwhelmed him and dashed his blissful revery.

    The smell came from the yard of the last house on Robert’s course. It was the most run-down abode as well. This was obviously a result of white terror as an honorable Black family lived on the property. Continuing on in his crusade, Robert knew precisely what he ought to do. Benevolently, he emptied the financial contents of his wallet and placed them inside the violated family’s mailbox, along with their usual mail.

    Pleased with this action, Robert began his trek back to his vehicle when he spotted the mangy, starving dog owned by the Black family. It was a Doberman Pinscher that was also obviously tormented by evil racists and was forced to defecate on the lawn as it had no other place to do so. Pity for the tortured creature grabbed Robert.

    Although the dog growled fiercely at the mailman, Robert knew that he wasn’t like the other tormentors of the world and thus advanced amiably towards the Doberman. Just as he came within petting range of the hound, the oppressed canine sprang swiftly and sank its sharp teeth into Robert’s exposed leg. A cry of pain was let out, but he overcame the cutting ache and petted the creature gently.

    A Black man came running out of the dog’s house and viciously yelled at Robert to vacate the property. The dog quickly ran to its master’s side which assuaged the postal worker of the biting agony from the sharp teeth. Robert smiled at the man and waved in a friendly fashion, but this only angered the high-born Black. Instantly discovering the source of the misunderstanding to be his own foul racism, Mr. Schaf left the premises content with the knowledge that he can contributed mightily that day.

    The blood that flowed from his leg eventually stopped and Robert was only forced to limp as a result. Making his way back home, he realized that such a minor gash in his leg was well worth it as he knew the power of sacrosanct right was with him. As a result, the ride home was filled with joy and wonder as Robert contemplated what would be on television on that illustrious Friday night.

    Robert arrived at home and was extraordinarily shocked at the scene that confronted him. He had just walked into the door when he realized that the vast majority of his furniture was gone! Upstairs and down, many costly valuables were missing. In a frenzied panic, he hastened to find the phone, which thankfully remained. As he prepared to dial for help, Robert was glad to see that his prized possession--his gigantic television--was also left untouched. As he gazed at his wonderful enjoyment box, he realized a note was taped to the screen.

    Setting the phone down, he examined the curious yellow note. It was addressed to him and send simply, "Thanks for your donation! This video from us is a token of our appreciation." The doubt and grave, foreboding thoughts that had entered Robert’s mind were quickly flung away and replaced by a glowing nimbus of rapture. He smiled broadly as he found the videotape and played it; it was his new favorite show: "The Joys of Diversity". Laying comfortably on the floor, Robert passed the night away in glorious mirth.

    II.

    On the following Saturday morning, the phone rang playfully and roused Mr. Schaf from his energizing sleep. Robert woke up and answered the phone. It was the Post Office calling him and informing him that today they were having a Postal Exam. Although he hadn’t been aware of such a test, Robert stretched out his frame that was stiff from sleeping on the floor and went about preparing himself.

    He slowly traversed the stairs and went into his bedroom. Robert had already realized his bed had been taken for charity, but soon realized that his clothes had been donated as well. He smiled at this realization as he knew some poor, oppressed soul would benefit greatly from them. His postal uniform would suffice anyway although he hadn’t planned to wear it since he was only required to take a test. He had taken many over his twenty-year career with the Post Office and knew the uniform wasn’t mandatory.

    Making his way to the bathroom, he noticed that his bathtub and towels had also been sacrificed for the greater good. It seemed as though the day couldn’t get any better! The morning was warm and Robert made do by cleansing himself in the sink. Drying himself with only the warm rays of the sun was a new experience and Robert silently thanked the forces of diversity for granting him this refreshing encounter.

    After readying himself for the new, glorious day, Robert drove to the Post Office with a tremendous confidence and happiness. He arrived just in time for his appointment and was thus quickly entreated to enter the testing room that was filled with postal workers and hopeful postal workers. Just as he grabbed a pencil and his test, a charming bell rang that indicated commencement of the exam.

    Used to such exercises of the mind and being quite the adroit master of such elementary questions, Robert took the luxury of gazing about the room before beginning his work. A jocular enthusiasm greeted him as the room was filled with a far more multifarious crowd than ever before. Sure there were some horribly heinous white men, but he had seen many more in years past. It therefore showed that the magnanimous brilliance was overwhelming the despicable squalor in the titanic clash of right and wrong.

    As it was presently, the Post Office consisted of but one minority and it seemed clear that this new test would change all that. Whites made up the bulk of the staff, but that was sure to change soon. Looking forward to the virtuous change, Robert wondered which of the new recruits he would be able to befriend.

    After his wondrous imaginings, Robert promptly proceeded to fill out his answer form. He swiftly plowed through the questions with effortless ease as he immediately marked the correct answer. Over and over again this occurred, almost as fast as the white demon taking advantage of the oppressed minority. Page upon page was turned with zestful celerity as he sagaciously answered questions that others might find far too difficult. Robert breezed through the examination so quickly and skillfully that he was done far before any of his fellow classmates.

    Given this opportunity to relax, Robert glanced lazily about the room full of hard-working comrades. As he looked around at the test-takers, he was appalled at the racism he uncovered. The whites taking the tests were easily reading the material and answering the questions while the unfortunate minorities were clearly having difficulties, becoming flustered and frustrated. There could be only one explanation for this: white vileness.

    It was extremely limpid that the designers of the exam were white and made the test to conform to white thinking while surely discriminating against the thinking of the other far more noble cultures. Obviously this cultural disadvantage was severely affecting the minorities and Robert was filled with reverent consternation at such a terrible travesty. This situation had to be righted and why it hadn’t already, he couldn’t fathom.

    As he was consequently mining his brain for ideas, the ding of a bell sounded and a long line was formed at the front of the hall. An electronic device was situated at the front of the line and swiftly determined the score of the participant’s test. The score was recorded for the Post Office’s records and the test-taker was given a slip of paper with his score and rank in relation to the other test scores, on it. Afterwards, everyone was directed back to their chairs to hear the announcement of the proud new employee.

    This whole procedure was undertaken with extreme earnest by Robert as he greatly looked forward to his new compatriot. He cared little about his performance on the test because he was used to excellence. Even though this was the case, when he resumed his seat and glanced at his percentage, he was not happy. Although he ranked first in the class, his score was a paltry 98.5%. Torturously racking his mind for answers that had been wrong proved a fantastically futile endeavor. Accordingly, he abandoned this line of thought and waited for the good news of the day to be announced.

    A man of proud Mexican ancestry became visible in the front of the hall and calmed the minor bubbling of social discourse with a small gesticulation. This high-born man was unknown to Robert and wore a sharp black ensemble that exuded loving kindness. The diverse aspect of this princely gentleman sweetened Robert’s day and he could only assume that this fine aristocrat was a recent addition to the office that he wasn’t aware of.

    Mr. Santanna--as his name came to be--greeted the crowd and read from a small card in front of him, "In the name of the holy forces of diversity, I stand before you to announce the newest employee of the Post Office. With an astounding score of 63%, I proudly present the one and only Mr. Mike Farrak!"

    The rousing speech brought tears to Robert’s eyes as a tingle of recognition ran through his mind. The aforementioned name was somehow familiar and jolted his analytical brain. The image of the glorious winner ended Robert’s search as yes! he recognized the oppressed Black man who was finally being placed in his rightful position. Overwhelmed with a swarm of lovely butterflies, Robert reveled in joy as he realized Mr. Farrak was the genteel gentleman whom he had encountered the day before.

    Amid the thundering applause and warm reception, Robert recalled the hideous unfairness of the test and realized that this catastrophic calamity had been compensated for! Due to the scathing, biased nature of the test, Robert was certain that Mr. Farrak’s 63% must certainly best his score and possibly be even perfect! Eagerly, Robert made his way to congratulate his new, vastly intelligent comrade.

    A varied crowd of gorgeous diversity ringed around the nobleman who had recently ascended his throne. It was quite a chore for Robert to wind his way to greet the lord, but he was devoutly determined to do so. After some moments of jostling and almost wrestling with the other men in the hall, Robert made his way to the front in order to pay homage to the new aristocrat.

    Composing himself, Robert spoke with great glee as he extended his hand in friendship, "Congratulations Mr. Farrak! I hope that your stay with the Post Office is a long and fruitful one!"

    As if he had been sprayed with acid, Mr. Farrak recoiled in disdain at the salutation Robert spewed. The Black man’s lip seemed to snarl as he hissed, "Die you white devil!"

    This outburst and the angry stares of the others in the crowd compelled Robert to hastily withdraw. His first instinct was to be hurt by this display but his supremely rational mind destroyed such feelings as he realized how the Black man must feel. The source of anguish of the world was the white man and Robert was, unfortunately, of this repulsive race. Thus, it was to be expected for the poor Blacks to look beyond the apparent charity of whites and perceive the actual intent of hostility. Robert was sincere but he was sure Mr. Farrak simply wasn’t used to whites doing good deeds and so he had lashed out. Robert, however, knew he was on the path of holiness and wasn’t about to waver in his resolve.

    As Robert ventured towards the exit, he realized he was to blame for the misunderstanding and would have to assiduously assert his intellect in order to divulge a better way to communicate his good intentions. This thought acted like the effulgent sun and opened the beautiful blossom of his wonderful joy. This rekindled torch of fire resulted in a harmonious whistling of delight as Robert reached the exit of the hall.

    As he reached for the door handle, the door suddenly rushed open with threatening velocity. Before Robert could react, the door crashed into his forehead and sent him staggering backwards in a blinding rush of vertigo. An exquisite minority emerged from the door and sped into the hall while sneering in contempt at the injured letter-carrier. What culture the man was of was impossible for Robert to ascertain in his feebled mental state.

    Enveloped in a terrible tornado that dizzied and befuddled him, Robert was unable to stop his vertiginous swirl until he landed on the floor with a pitiful slump. Some moments passed before his senses were regained and he realized where he was. A full recuperation took a bit longer as he finally become aware of the door in front of him that served as the egress. Slowly hefting himself up, he noticed his score sheet had fallen from his grasp and presently retrieved it.

    With the swelling bruise on his forehead pulsating madly, Robert cautiously went through the door but made it out safely this time. Admonishing himself to improve his diplomacy as soon as possible so further painful encounters could be avoided, he happened to notice more writing on his score sheet than he had recalled. Stopping to examine the paper resulted in a mammoth smile on Robert’s visage. Two words were scrawled on the back--"You’re fired!"

    III.

    Robert’s drive home was one full of delight and glee as he was fully aware of the noble position he had fulfilled. He wondered if the Post Office had somehow learned of his sacrosanct quest and sacrificed him for the burdened Black man. Regardless of how it came to be, the notion of his sacrifice was one he believed only happened in fairy tales with chivalric knights. Robert’s crusade had scarcely begun, yet he felt as though he had already contributed monstrously.

    Enthused and excited from this addicting elixir of bliss, he knew he would need to find another job in order to procure funds for the movement. Naturally, Robert envisioned himself working at a different Post Office as that had been his calling for so many fruitful years. However, he thought, how could he look to work in a field that the extravagant minorities should hold? It was a fairly lucrative profession that rightfully belonged to men like Mr. Farrak, not himself. The vicious whites had held such luxurious positions for far too long while the magnificent minorities had been forced to fill low-paying occupations that seemed to be but a continuation of the horrible slavery that the white man had supposedly abolished. This had to change.

    As Robert contemplated a low-paying job, he happened to notice an obscene scene of horror: a contemptible white policeman was harassing a defenseless Black man! Virtually crushing the brake pedal which immediately halted his car, Robert swiftly exited his vehicle. With a fierce statement of brutal hatred for the oppressor, he rushed to question the dastardly criminal that hid behind a blue uniform and shiny badge.

    With a harsh bellowing roar, Robert boomed, "What is the meaning of this!? Why are you harassing this upstanding citizen!?"

    The police officer glanced at the Black man--who had been so encumbered with white oppression that he was forced to wear rags--and then back at Robert with a curious stare. Then he spoke, "This ‘upstanding citizen’ is a wanted rapist and murderer. Now, sir, please remain calm while I make my arrest."

    A sweltering boil of anger and resentment at the lawman’s haughtiness and arrogance raged forcefully within Robert. The man surely spoke lies behind his cordial disguise but Robert was momentarily paralyzed by the calming facade the policeman exuded. His hostile intentions were plainly evident, though, and when the vitiated officer moved to make the arrest, Robert felt the tinge of power glide through him as he moved to save the day.

    "Run my Black brother! Run!" Robert screamed before lunging at the officer and tackling him. The Black man took full advantage of this propitious event and bolted away like a triumphant cheetah. The so-called "criminal" fled away with the breeze and found justice somewhere in the numerous folds of the city.

    Meanwhile, a not-so-titanic struggle occurred between Robert and the law officer. This is so because while Robert was in decent shape, he was certainly no warrior. The angered officer quickly subdued the former postal worker and applied the handcuffs extremely tightly. This mattered not to Robert and he was oblivious to the lack of circulation to his hands as he had gloriously accomplished his objective: the freedom of an innocent Black man.

    As Robert was being transported to jail, he dreamed of the glory and songs of praise that would be sung in his honor. There was no doubt in his mind that he was a courageous champion of diversity and was even willing to take on the tyrannical white government. His arrest, instead of dousing his fire, had only enraged it until it consumed his entire being in a wondrous inferno of beauty. Robert was totally committed, come what may.

    The next few hours were filled with laborious law enforcement procedures: booking, fingerprinting, etc. Robert noticed the glaring racism that dominated the scene as the white officers cruelly reigned over the Black prisoners. The whole affair fueled his hatred for the corrupt white man and he looked forward to revenging himself on the decadent system. First, however, he had to post bail and exit the depraved prison.

    Although he had already donated all the money in his wallet, Robert lived well enough to have earned a sizable fund which he kept in his bank. This money would surely cover the bail, regardless of the charges. He strained to recall the exact charges against him but failed to do so as the emotional aspect of the whole ordeal had clouded his concentration. Confidently and with great sangfroid, though, Robert authorized the secretary to withdraw whatever bail was required from his bank account.

    "It appears your account has been closed out, Mr. Schaf," replied the youthful secretary.

    An undisguised look of shock was blanketed across Robert’s visage as he stared in disbelief. His eyes were shallow orbs that didn’t, couldn’t, comprehend the woman’s words. "How is that possible?" he managed to squeak out.

    After punching a few keys on her keyboard, the secretary responded, "It seems that your account was closed out yesterday. It says you made a donation to the ‘Joys of Diversity’, Mr. Schaf."

    The blank zombielike appearance that Robert radiated was quickly flushed away as vibrant life returned to him. What a stroke of fortune! His life savings of almost $100,000 were now being used for his sacred mission! The intense joy he had been feeling as a result of his adventure surged through him again and he knew he would feel this wonder countless times before he won the war of diversity.

    Since he was unable to post bail, Robert was forced to reside in a holding cell that he suddenly looked forward to as it was filled with many Black souls. More and more of these innocent citizens were piled into his cell, until at least ten of them so occupied it. The sweet diversity of the room was delightful to the eye, but Robert knew he must be careful so as not to offend his cell mates. He also realized that his white skin was the only contaminant in the area so he knew he must word his language carefully lest he not be accepted into the confraternity the others shared.

    The group of minorities were busy sharing their stories of heroism and subsequent oppression when Robert genially greeted them, "Good day gentleman. How are you?" The group glanced at him and, after a few snickers, returned to their storytelling.

    Unfazed by his not-so-warm reception, Robert looked for a common enemy by roaring out, "The vile white man is the cause of your hardship! Kill whitey!"

    Uproarious laughter ensued at this proclamation, which Robert gleefully joined in. As he was reveling in his new-found friendship, the largest Black man rose and spoke harshly, "Good idea, whitey."

    At this command, the multicultural crowd rushed at Robert and tossed him roughly to the concrete floor. The floor was hard and the fall painful but the constant bombardment of fist, foot, knee, and elbow were far more injurious as blow upon blow battered Robert’s frame. So many areas of his body felt the blast of force that he was unable to discern individual concussions about his body. One did stand out above all the others, though. It was a smash to his cranium that put him to sleep.

    Groggily, Robert came to as he faintly recognized that he was lying in a hospital bed. The event that caused him to reside in the bed came back to him although the misunderstanding seemed like a veritable universe away and untold eons ago. Piecing together the events after his unconsciousness, he realized the police must have brought him here but he saw no sight of them at the moment.

    The fight, of course, was his fault but it appeared as though it would turn out for the best if he could make his get-away. As Robert slid out of bed, he noticed a mirror beside him that he consequently examined to see the extent of his injuries. He was quite beaten and swollen; however, pain was not to be felt and, instead, he felt a slight sense of warm euphoria. A pain-killer, he realized, had been administered and made his rise from his bed feel like an exhilarating rush through a pleasant park with the open air gently gliding across his body.

    Although he wore but a simple white robe that quickly identified him as a patient, Robert had his wits about him and stealthily exited his room. On the lookout for nefarious policemen, he quickly made his way through the twists and turns of the hospital. Knowing he was a conspicuous target on the outside, Robert managed to let himself out the back way which fortunately for him led to a dark alley where few beings dared reside.

    Robert instantly recognized that he was in the poorer section of the city, in the slums. As he traversed this area, he was confronted by the warm air despite it being quite late by the look of things. Thus, his skimpy attire bothered him not; what did enrage him was the filth, poverty, and penury that was heaped about. Obviously, the minorities were forced to live in ghettoes like these while the richer whites lived in mansions far, far away.

    As he was thinking thus, a loud scream of "Help!" reverberated against the condensed buildings in the alley where he trekked. The multiple injuries Robert had suffered hampered him not, nor did his lack of footwear, as he raced to the rescue. The dank alley turned several times before he came to the location of the cry for help. The image before Robert was heinously brutal. He knew he must right the wrong he saw.

    Five Black men bedecked in red bandannas were mauling a miserable miscreant that undoubtedly deserved his fate as he was a white youth. The villain, although bloody and tattered, was still struggling despite the odds against him. Upon further inspection, the white male turned out to be a horrific skinhead: those who openly declared their raucous racism instead of wearing a facade of tolerance.

    As Robert rushed to the rescue, he bellowed mightily, "Hey! Stop!" The Black gentlemen halted and glared at Robert while the white scumbag collapsed from his wounds.

    The skinhead was on his knees and spoke when Robert arrived, "Thank you brother. I could use some help."

    To this Robert replied with a colossal kick to the youth’s jaw followed by a flurry of punches and elbows as Robert mounted the devastated enemy. The skinhead, already dazed by the previous melee, was unable to offer any effective resistance and was plunged into darkness as he lay in a pool of crimson blood. Panting, Robert rose in victory with a monstrous smile to the friends he had helped.

    Smiling, the leader spoke, "Thanks honky. Now it’s your turn." A befuddled look overcame Robert as he gazed on in horror as the man pulled a gun out. A loud bang rang powerfully out and Robert Schaf knew no more of the Joys of Diversity.