How I Turned a Racist Moment in the 90s into a Profitable One
You can't control what happens to you, but you can control how you respond.
Orange County, California, isn't for black people.
This is the accepted sentiment in Los Angeles. Blacks are less than 3% of the population. We don’t travel to Orange County without good reason.
There isn’t a sign that says no blacks, but there is an invisible freeway barrier you dare not cross.
In the late 90s, I got an offer to work for a cool Startup. When I told my friends it was in Orange County, they gasped. One friend put his hands over his heart and said, "You must be desperate!"
My mother prayed.
"You're going to work out there?"
No opportunity was worth fraternizing with "those people." People immersed in privilege—Guys who wear ascots and penny loafers.
Orange County and LA represent a cultural divide. Warring ideas. Diverging philosophies.
But I’m opportunity focused and never stray away from a challenge, so I took the job.
A typical Startup day.
The Startup environment was breathtaking. We were a bunch of geeks wearing Converse and t-shirts. It was the environment you dream of in college. We were a welcome cliche.
We dined together. Nerf gun bullets flew across the room on any night: empty pizza boxes and Coke cans decorated conference room tables.
It was a conquer-the-world vibe. Conversations about the stock were frequent. Our stock would turn into shares and shares into wealth.
Some of us had our dream car and home as screen-saver. Success was a forgone conclusion.
Cool environment. Cool people.
My blackness didn’t seem to matter. What mattered was my ability to solve complex problems. Maybe LA people didn’t get it after all.
We were a band of brothers bonded by a joint mission.
We’d listen to the CEO chat at the end of the day. Sitting on the floor, legs crossed, he'd thank us for our contribution and provide insights into the business.
It felt like family.
It was common to leave the office after 2 AM but talk in the parking lot for an hour more. The ambitious mission demanded time, and passion made it easy.
Some of us became life-long friends.
A market bomb dropped.
In 2008, dot-bomb happened.
Back then, almost all companies began with a lowercase 'e.' The market ravaged them all.
Developers lost jobs, homes, and careers. Some worked for free, hoping for change. Desperation forced others into real estate.
Our little Startup was not immune to the market downturn. During a nighttime chat, the CEO informed us our runway had collapsed. There was no cash. Wage reductions were the only way to survive.
We accepted lower wages because we believed. We locked arms in solidarity. We purchased food for one another. We helped with personal bills. We put snacks in the company fridge, clinging to the culture we built.
Then things got worse.
We went from lower pay to no pay. Investments were supposed to come in, but the market was tight. Each night, we'd hear horror stories of investors backing out. Or checks bouncing.
The sales team struggled to gain traction. The CEO worked with his investor contacts, but nothing worked. The promise of a cash infusion was always 2-weeks away.
Two weeks led to four. Months later, things got scary.
But we were brothers. We still believed. We stuck it out together.
The night I was reminded, I was black.
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