A SAMSON STORY-"THE NIGGA CRYING IN THE LINK OFFICE"

Samson woke up to the sound of bass shaking his enire house.  This was immediately followed by

the sound of a baby crying.  He had not been awake for five seconds, but he was already

hollering,

"Man, fuck!  What time is it?"


Delila rolled toward the edge of the bed to try and find her cell phone on the floor.  She

picked it up, and the bright light flashed into her eyes.  The clock read "6:00am".  Delila

sat up in the bed and tried to get her thoughts straight.  The baby's crying seemed to be

distracting her from a thought.  

The link office.

Today was the last day for Samsom to re-apply for his link card.  Delila knew how long those

lines get, so she needed Samson to get there as early as possible, so he wouldn't be there all

day.  She had to go to work at 9am, so she still had a few hours left to sleep.  

"Nigga, get up," she said.  "You know you've got to go to the link office.  You're going to

have to take the kids with you.  And theirs no more food in the fridge, so I'm going to need

you to go grocery shopping and cook dinner after you're done.  Damn, I'm sleepy.  It's cold in

here.  Turn the heat up."

Samson realized that he had just inherited a list of chores before he had even opened his

eyes.  The baby's screams got louder, and Delila kicked Samson in his thigh.  

"Nigga, go make her a bottle, don't you hear her crying?  Damn, it's freezing in here!  Is the

heat even on?"

Samson opened his eyes.  A fly landed on his ear, sending a buzzing noise down his ear that

made him smack his own ear a little bit harder than he had intended to. He sat up, trying to

ignore the loud ringing in his ear.  By the time his feet touched the cold floor, his headache

was in full bloom.  Samson slowly stood up and walked toward where the crying was coming from.

 "What time is it?" he asked again.  No response.

Samson pulled into the Link office parking lot at exactly 7:00am.  He knew they did not open

for another hour, so he was hoping to be first in line.  To his dismay, there were already

dozens of people in line.

Fuck, he thought.  Did these people sleep out here, or what?

The sound of his two stepdaughter's voices filled the backseat, as the other three children

had fallen back asleep.  Even though they were both wearing three layers of clothing, they

complained about how cold it was and how they wanted to get back into the bed.  This constant

suggestion was starting to irritate Samson.

"Well, there ain't shit I can do about that, so stop saying the same thing over and over

again."

As Samson opened the car door, he heard his stepdaughter singing a song on that was on the

radio.  The words caught him off guard.

"She wants to fuck me, I say CHURCH!"

THe radio cut out the swear word, but somehow, his daughters knew the dirty lyrics to the

song.  Samson shook his head and closed the car door.  He reluctantly left the car running, as

he got out of the car and walked toward the line, which was about thirty feet away.  He knew

that the heat that was keeping the children warm was coming from the last gallon of gasoline

in the tank.  As he asked himself why would Delila not put gas in the tank if she knew that he

had to go to the Link office in the morning, he lit a cigarette and continued toward the line.

 He stood at the end of the line and began to count how many people were ahead of him.  There

were quite a few more people than he had expected, but he figured that it was still better

than showing up at 8:00am.  He put his back against the wall and looked at his car.  He could

see his two stepdaughters waiving at him, through the clouds of smoke coming from the exhaust

pipe.  Samson took a hit of his cigarette and waived back.  

Samson was overcome by a familiar feeling.  He looked at his stepdaughters and wished he could

do better for them.  He had applied to almost every job online that he could find.  Not one

response.  He found that very strange because it seemed like every female that he knew was

getting a new job, but none of his male friends could find employment.  Before he could finish

that thought, he saw a very tall man walk to the front of the line.  This man began passing

out a piece of paper to each person in line and saying,

"Good morning.  God bless you."

Probably a Jehovah's Witness, Samson thought.  Why the hell would anybody come down to the

Link office trying to get money?  What an idiot.

As the man approached Samson, he noticed that a few of the people refused to take the paper

from the man, but were trying to read the words on the paper being held by the person in front

of them.  

Why the hell didn't they just take the damn paper?"

The tall man handed Samson a paper.  He said.

"Good morning.  God bless you."

The tall man walked over to his car and got in.  The car instantly started, and took off.  

Samson thought it strange that the man didn't even ask for money or anything.  He took a look

at the paper.  It said:

"ALL OF YOUR ENEMIES ARE REALLY ONE PERSON."

This caught Samson off guard as he tried to figure out the meaning.  What a bold statement.  

He continued reading.

"ALL OF YOUR CHOICES ARE ILLUSIONS.  YOU ONLY HAVE TWO CHOICES IN LIFE. TO ACT FROM THE

POSITIVE SIDE OF LIGHT, OR THE NEGATIVE SIDE OF LIGHT.  

IN LIFE, EVERYBODY GET'S THE SAME TEST.  SOME PARTS, YOU WILL FAIL.  SOME PARTS YOU WILL PASS.

 SOME PARTS THAT YOU FAIL, OTHERS WILL PASS.  SOME PARTS THAT OTHERS HAVE FAILED, YOU WILL

PASS.  BUT EVERYBODY GETS THE SAME TEST.  

SOME PARTS WILL BE EASY.  SOME PARTS WILL BE HARD. SOME PARTS THAT MAY SEEM EASY TO YOU, WILL

BE HARDER TO OTHERS.  SOME PARTS WILL BE HARD TO YOU, BUT EASY TO OTHERS.  BUT EVERYBODY GETS

THE SAME TEST.

WHEN THE TEST GETS HARD, ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT TO SOMEONE ELSE, IT'S SIMPLE.  AND YOU ARE

SMARTER THAN THAT PERSON.  SO IF THEY CAN DO IT, THEN YOU CAN DO IT.  

IT ONLY SEEMS HARD BECAUSE YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO RESPOND IN A WAY THAT STEMMED FROM FEAR INSTEAD

OF LOVE.  YOUR FEAR IS BASED ON IMAGES AND ILLUSIONS FROM THE PAST, WHICH IS AN ILLUSION

ITSELF.  ALL YOU HAVE IS THE PRESENT, AND THE CHOICE TO ACT POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE.  THE PAST IS

AN ILLUSION.  THE FUTURE IS AN ILLUSION.  ALL YOU HAVE IS RIGHT NOW. SHED YOUR FEAR.  SHED THE

ILLUSION.

THE ENEMY ONLY HAS IMAGES AND ILLUSIONS THAT THEY HIDE BEHIND.  IF YOU DESTROY THE IMAGE, THEN

YOU DESTROY THE ENEMY.

-HOODX.COM

Samson scratched his head and tried to figure out the significance of this.  He read the

entire paper again.  This made him think about what he was afraid of.  Going to jail.  Delila

leaving him.  Death.  Being broke.  He read the paper again, trying to find the meaning behind

"All of your enemies are one person."  He thought of a few people that he didn't get along

with.  He envisioned all of them as one person.  At first it didn't make sense, but then he

tried to focus on what this one person looked like.  When the face finally emerged.  He was

shocked with what he saw.  It was his own face.

"What the fuck is this shit?" the negative Samson said while looking the positive Samson.

"Holy shit!"  Samson exclaimed.  It hit him like a ton of bricks.  "IT WAS YOU!"

Samson saw this negative life flash in front of his eyes.  He saw nearly every argument.  

Every fight.  Every time he had acted out of embarrassment.  Every time he had gotten distracted

from doing something that he was supposed to be doing.  It was this negative Samson every

time.  Making Samson believe that it was actually his own doing.  

"No shit Sherlock, I guess you finally figured it out."

Samson tried to catch his breath.  "What do you want from me?"

"It's not that simple, Samson.  You're not the only person that I am a part of.  I am a part

of every person on this planet.  I am the lower self.  Shadow version of yourself.  I AM YOU!"

"You're not me," Samson replied.  "I'm the real me."

"Don't you think that's exactly what every fool says?  I AM YOU!  Is the real you lazy?  Does

the 'real' you want to keep smoking and drinking?  Does the 'real' you listen to songs about

fucking and church in the same sentence?  Does the 'real' you have multiple sex partners and

not marry any of them?  You can stop me anytime you wish."

Samson was caught off guard by the negative Samson's responses.  He sounded so convincing.  "I

didn't know then.  I mean, I always believed that there was a negative version of me, but now

I know.  And now that I know, I'm taking back my life."

"You think it's that easy?  I am a part of you just as much as the ten toes on your foot.  Is

it that easy to get rid of your foot?  Can you just cut your foot off that easily?"

As Samson began to think of the scene in the movie "Saw", where the man cut his own foot off.  

He quickly snapped out of his trance.

"See," the negative Samson replied.  "You can't even control your own thoughts."

The negative Samson snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were both surrounded by thousands

of televisions.  On screen, there were pornographic images playing.  There were some of

Samson's most secret fantasies being played out right on screen.  Samson wanted to look away,

but felt himself being hypnotized by the images.  The women were moaning with such pleasures

that Samson quickly get aroused.

"See," the negative Samson said.  "How are you going to say that I don't know what you like?  

Who do you think it was that found these image for you?  Just admit that you like the

lifestyle that I bring you, and I'll keep bringing it to you.  Who wouldn't like this?"

Samson looked at the screens and felt himself getting more aroused by the second.  He tried to

resist, but he could feel himself being pulled into the negative energy.  Why does it have to

feel so good?

He then thought of what the paper said.  

THE ENEMY ONLY HAS IMAGES AND ILLUSIONS THAT THEY HIDE BEHIND.  IF YOU DESTROY THE IMAGE, THEN

YOU DESTROY THE ENEMY.

Samson thought to himself.  He envisioned all of the screens showing him images of his step-

daughters waiving at him from the backseat.  All of the images switched to this.  Samson

smiled to himself and waived back at the television.  

"NO!" the negative Samson yelled.

The televisions burst open.  Sparks and electric wires flew out of the screens.  All of the

televisions exploded and the negative Samson vanished into thin air.

At that very moment, a woman approached the front door to the Link office.  She unlocked the

door and opened it.  As the line worked it's way into the building, people were handed a piece

of paper with a number on it.  Samson looked at his number and realized that the woman wasn't

even looking at him as she handed it to him.  

33.

Samson realized that that number wasn't that bad.  He walked into the lobby area and began

looking for a seat.  As he approached an empty seat, he found himself thinking back to the

daydream that he just had.  It felt so real.  He was so deep into his dream, it seemed like

that hour just flew right by.  He didn't even notice that there were at least another one

hundred and twenty people behind him.  
 
"Turn off all cell phones!  There will be no cell phones!  If we see anybody using any type of

electrical device, then you will be escorted from the building."

The security guard seemed to enjoy her job a little too much.  The black woman walked back and

forth through the room, appearing to be looking for anyone using a cell phone.  Then she saw a

Mexican woman pressing buttons on her phone.

"Didn't you just hear me tell everybody to get off the phone?"

"I'm turning it off," she replied.  "You just said turn the phones off."

"Don't let me see that phone again," the security guard snapped.

As Samson watched this interaction, he saw something.  The way the security guard was talking

to the Mexican woman.  It was almost exactly how the negative Samson was speaking to him.  

There was a certain "light" about this woman that seemed hypnotic.  It was similar to the

light glowing from the televisions while the pornographic images were playing.  Had Samson had

not had that day dream, he would have not even noticed that this "light" that she was giving

off was full of negative energy.

As more people took a number, came into the lobby, and sat down, other women began walking

through the door, but they didn't sit down.  They continued walking through the lobby toward

the employee area.  As two women walked in, Samson noticed the same hypnotic negative light.  

They had hair weaves that seemed to be very expensive.  They blinked their fake eyelashes and

smiled and said at the same time,

"Good morning everybody!"

The energy that they were giving off seemed inappropriate, but they didn't seem to be aware of

it.  They were too busy looking good.  They both had on a lot of make up, but one woman had on

entirely too much make up.  She was wearing a long necklace that appeared to be made of

diamonds.  As she adjusted it, Samson noticed that all of her fingers seemed to be wearing

some sort of jewelry that as very expensive.  Her wrists were covered in gold and jewels that

would make a thief start drooling.  One woman's coat was made of fur.  It was so fluffy and

beautiful that seemed like it was hand drawn.  

One person responded.

"Morning," he said, sounded like he was simply acknowledging the fact that it was indeed

morning.

The second woman stopped the first woman.

"No, girl," she said to the other.  "I'm going to try that again.  Good Morning everybody!"

She said it in way that was commanding the entire room to acknowledge her.

"Good morning," the room responded.  

"That's better," she responded in a way that sounded like a mother talking to her daughter.  

She smiled and continued through the employee door.

As more employees entered, Samson couldn't help but notice that there were no men.  They were

all black women.  The women employees came in one at a time.  It seemed like a fashion show.  

It was as if each woman was trying to upstage every other woman's jewelry, outfit, and hair

weave.  Then, a white woman walked through the door and headed toward the employee door.  

Samson noticed that she was dressed very casual in a pair of sneakers.  She had on no jewelry

and was the only woman carrying a stack of papers.  She smiled and quickly shuffled "across

stage" through the employee door, trying not to be noticed.  

Samson wondered if he was over analyzing.  It seemed as if all the black women were giving off

that same glow.  It seemed mysterious at first.  They all looked so beautiful.  But there was

nothing natural about their look at all.  The hair was fake.  The make up was fake.  The

eyelashes were fake.  The jewelry even seemed fake.  But what was most fake was how they all

interacted with each other.  They all sounded like they were talking to a child.  Their voices

were all so high pitched, it made Samson wonder if they were even aware of how they sounded.  

A part of him wanted to say that they were trying to sound "white", but that would have been

to vague.  They sounded like they were trying to "talk down" to each other.  Like every woman

in this room is better than every other person in this room.  That's when Samson noticed other

women trying to adjust their hair and put on lipstick.  Some of the women punched their man on

the arm, trying to keep his wandering eyes on her.  

They're over doing it, Samson thought.  We're all broke as hell in here.  Why the hell would

they all wear all this extra shit?  Are they trying to make us feel like shit?

"Okay, I need all of the people who's names I call out, I need you to yell out 'Here' very

loudly.  Then I need you to line up right here!"  

The woman behind the counter had on too much make up.  Her hair weave was perfect.  It almost

looked like her real hair. As her body moved behind the counter, Samson noticed that glow

again.  She began to read names off.  Some names did not respond.  Some names responded with a

'here' that was very low.  Samson realized that the voice that was responding had the same

negative frequency.  They sounded worn out and defeated.  They didn't want to stand out.  They

just wanted to get their food stamps and go.  The woman snapped.

"If I don't hear you say 'here', then you're going to wait until I'm done calling everyone's name.  Rosa Martinez!"

A woman yelled out here and approached the front counter.  Although she had yelled as loud as

she could, it wasn't loud enough for the woman behind the counter to hear her.  When Rosa got

up to the desk, the woman behind the desk snapped.

"Who are you?"

"Rosa Martinez."

"Go sit down.  Cause you're about to wait til I'm done calling everybody else.  If you don't

say here, when I call your name, then you're going to wait."

"I did say 'here'!"  Rosa replied.  

"Well I didn't hear you, so now you have to wait."

"Couldn't you just put me through?  I've been here since seven this morning."

"George Smith!" the lady yelled out, ignoring Rosa.  Rosa dropped her shoulders and her head.  

She slowly walked back to her seat.    

"Smith!  George Smith!"  

"Here!" a voice yelled out.

After calling out several more names, they began to call out numbers.  

"I want numbers one through fifteen to line up over here.  Then I want numbers fifteen through

thirty to line up over here."

This is going to take a while, Samson thought. He began reading the paper again.  

"ALL OF YOUR ENEMIES ARE REALLY ONE PERSON."

Then his phone rang.

The security guard walked right up on Samson.  "You need to take that cell phone outside,

right now!"

Samson almost asked her why she was being so aggressive, but he thought about what the paper

said.  Instead, he smiled and said,

"You're really good at this job.  I hope you find whatever it is that you're looking for."

He got up and walked into the outside lobby.  The security guard stared at him as he walked

toward the door.  She seemed to be confused.

Samson answered the phone.  "Hello?"  

"Hello, Samson.  It's Sarah.  How are you?"

"I'm cool, what's up?"

"Well, you know your dad has cancer, and he was walking to the bathroom and fell over.  He

can't get off the floor.  Can you come over here and help get him up off the floor?"

Samson was speechless.  How could he say no?  

"He's on the floor right now?"

"Yes.  Can you come?"

Samson had a familiar feeling.  He always seemed to find himself in situations like this all

the time.  Whenever he tried to make an accomplishment, there was something holding him back.  

But it wasn't "regular" things that were holding him back.  It was like he didn't have a

choice.  Then he remembered what the paper said.

ALL OF YOUR CHOICES ARE ILLUSIONS.  YOU ONLY HAVE TWO CHOICES IN LIFE. TO ACT FROM THE

POSITIVE SIDE OF LIGHT, OR THE NEGATIVE SIDE OF LIGHT.  

He knew that if he left, then there would be a gap where he would not receive food stamps for

at least a month.  His father lived about a half hour away.  Samson tried to calculate how

much time it would take for him to get to the house, help his father off the floor, then get

back to the food stamp office.  Probably an hour and a half.  Only one problem.  No gas.

Samson remembered what the paper said.

IN LIFE, EVERYBODY GET'S THE SAME TEST.  SOME PARTS, YOU WILL FAIL.  SOME PARTS YOU WILL PASS.

 SOME PARTS THAT YOU FAIL, OTHERS WILL PASS.  SOME PARTS THAT OTHERS HAVE FAILED, YOU WILL

PASS.  BUT EVERYBODY GETS THE SAME TEST.  

"I don't have any gas," Samson said.  He felt tears swelling in his eyes.  What am I going to

do?

Sarah began crying.  "Okay, I'm going to make a few more calls to see if I can find someone

else."

"I'm going to see what I can do," Samson said.  He had no idea what he was going to do.  He

felt the tears running down his cheeks.  He tried as hard as he could to fight them.  

Ain't nothing like being a nigga crying at the Link office, Samson thought.

He tried to wipe his face.  There was snot pouring out of his nose.  He needed a tissue.  

There was no way around it.  He had to walk through the lobby to the bathroom.  Everyone was

going to see him as "the nigga crying in the link office."  He walked through the door, trying

to keep his head low.  The security guard noticed that he was crying and made a look of

disgust.  She chuckled to herself and looked away.  Samson was surprised to notice that no one

really even noticed that he was crying.  Everyone seemed to be in there own little world.  No

one wanted to socialize.  Nobody asked if he was okay.  Nobody even noticed.

He went into the bathroom and went into the stall.  He reached for the toilet paper.  There

was none.  Samson broke down.

He began crying as hard as he had in his life.  Why does it seem like everything that I do is

the wrong move?  I tried to show up early, and now I have to leave.  But I feel guilty about

not wanting to leave because my father is stuck on the floor.  But I don't even have gas to

get there.  I would have to drive all the way home, ask Delila for gas money, then drive all

the way out to my dads, then all the way back.  A bunch of familiar questions started

returning.  Why does life always have to be this way?  Why am I stuck?  Why can't I provide

for my family?  Why can't I just find a job like a regular person?  Why am I always broke?  

Why can't I quit smoking?  Why do I have to drink just to have a conversation?  

He pulled out the paper and read it.


IT ONLY SEEMS HARD BECAUSE YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO RESPOND IN A WAY THAT STEMMED FROM FEAR INSTEAD

OF LOVE.  YOUR FEAR IS BASED ON IMAGES AND ILLUSIONS FROM THE PAST, WHICH IS AN ILLUSION

ITSELF.  ALL YOU HAVE IS THE PRESENT, AND THE CHOICE TO ACT POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE.  THE PAST IS

AN ILLUSION.  THE FUTURE IS AN ILLUSION.  ALL YOU HAVE IS RIGHT NOW. SHED YOUR FEAR.  SHED THE

ILLUSION.

Samson dried his eyes and walked out of the bathroom.  He told himself that everything was

going to be okay.  He took a deep breath and exhaled.  He looked at the clock.  It was already

9:00.  How long was he in the bathroom?  He heard people's names being called to go into the

back room to be interviewed.  

Could they have called my number while I was in the bathroom?

He walked over to a black woman who worked in lobby.  "Excuse me, how can I find out if they

called my number or not?"

The lady didn't even look at Samson.  "Go get in line."  She walked off with a white woman

pushing a stroller.  Two other white children were hanging on to the stroller pretending to be

monkeys.  The female worker looked at the children and turned up her nose.  She looked over at

the security guard who began laughing.  The female worker shook her head in disgust, then put

her nose in the air.  Samson noticed that the white woman's face seemed to be worn out.  She

was probably very pretty a long time ago.  But he could see years of cigarettes, alcohol, and

long nights had completely destroyed any beauty that was left in her face.  As the female

worker walked off, Samson could hear her jewelry making this noise,

"Clink, clink, clank, clank."

Samson saw something that bothered him.  The woman seemed to be a machine. He looked around

the lobby and noticed that all of the women looked like machines.  He thought back to when he

was a child and he would go to Macy's downtown during Christmas.  There were lots of robots of

Mr and Mrs Santa Clause who looked very life-like.  There was a "glow" that those robots used

to give off.  They had no real emotion.  Samson couldn't really explain it.  But he noticed

this same glow in these women.  It was if they were newer hi-tech versions of those old robots

he saw at Macy's.  It wasn't that they didn't have any emotion.  But it was as if they even

had no emotion about having no emotion. There was a light in this woman that was almost

"electric".  As if she was plugged into a wall.       

Samson shook his head and walked over to the line.  He thought about his father crawling on

the floor and tears returned to his eyes.  He tried to look up to avoid the tears from falling

out of his eyes.  The last thing that he wanted to do was cry in front of the help desk.  As

he got closer to the beginning of the line, he noticed that there was a black woman and a

black man behind the counter.  When he got up to the front of the line, the black man called

him forward.  

"How can I help you?" he asked.

Samson noticed that he didn't have the same "glow" as the women.  "Um, yeah.  Did you call

number thirty three already?"

The man smiled and shook his head.  "Man, fam.  We were done calling number almost forty-five

minutes ago."

Samson felt tears coming.  Don't cry.  Don't cry.

"So, is there any way that you can put me back in the list where I was.  I kind of had a

family emergency."

The man looked into Samson's eyes and reluctantly said, "I can put you on the list, but you're

going to have to go to the end of the list."

Samson felt overwhelmed.  He thought back to him getting up early to get down to the link

office to avoid this very situation that finding himself in.  The end of the line.  The tears

fell out of his eyes.  

"Maybe you might want to come back after you handle your family emergency."

"But today is the last day for me to re-apply, if not then I am going to have to wait."

"What's your name and social?"

"Samson Brown."

Samson gave his social security number and the man's eyebrows raised while looking at the

screen.  "Yeah, I see here it's your last day."

The man gave Samson a long look.  "Okay, this is what I'm going to do for you, fam.  I can't

put you back where you were on the list, but I can put a note by your name and ask them to

take you first."

Samson felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders.  "Thanks bro.  That's all I need is

somebody who can just give me a break sometimes."

"I know the feeling," he replied.

"Thanks," Samson said as he went and sat down.  While he was sitting, he watched the man who

just helped him service the woman who was standing behind Samson.  The man seemed to be

genuinely interested in what the woman was saying.  The black female worker who was standing

next to him seemed to have a better connection with her computer than the woman who was

standing on the other side of the desk, giving her social security number.  This made Samson

think to himself.

She's got to be a robot.  She has more feelings for her damn computer than any of these people

in here.  Before could finish that thought, that's when he heard it.

"Samson Brown!"

"Here!"  

Samson stood up and walked over to the black woman who apparently was his social worker.  She

was largely overweight.  Samson quickly noticed that she had her real hair that was past her

shoulders.  She was holding a file in one hand and a bag of chips in the other hand.  As

Samson approached her, she popped another chip in her mouth.  "You Brown?"  

"Yeah,"  Samson replied.  He noticed that she didn't have the "glow" that the other "robot-

women" had.  

"Follow me," she replied.  Samson followed her through a set of doors to a back room where

there were lots of desk, with social workers interviewing people who all had the same worn out

faces.  None of the social workers were even looking at the people as they entered the

information into the computer.  The large woman sat down at her desk.  She rolled up her bag

of chips and placed it into her drawer.  Samson noticed lots of bags of chips in the drawer as

the door closed shut.  "Fill this out," she said handing a paper to Samson.  Samson looked at

this woman and realized that she was nothing like the other women in this building.  He

couldn't tell if it was the robot women that work here that were causing this woman to snack

or was it some other type of insecurity.

Twenty minutes later, Samson was walking out of the door.  As he headed out of the door, he

looked over at the man who helped him.  He seemed to have an expression on his face like he

did not belong there.  He looked lost.  Samson didn't know why, but he felt bad for this man.  

Somebody needs to know that this man helped me.  

Samson walked over to the security guard.  "Who's the supervisor?"

"If you want to talk to the supervisor, then you're going to have to wait in line."

Samson did not like the idea of that.  

"Or you could talk to the floor supervisor when she comes back out.  Her hair is in a bun.  

She has on a green jacket."

Samson quietly sat down and waited for the supervisor.  He had never done anything like this,

but for some reason, he felt the urge to tell the supervisor that this man had helped him.  

Why did he feel the urge to do this?  He thought back to the tall man that handed him the

paper this morning.  Samson pulled it out again and read it.

ALL YOU HAVE IS THE PRESENT, AND THE CHOICE TO ACT POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE.

Samson's phone rang.  He answered.  "Hello?"

"Yes, Samson, are you still coming?"  

How could he have forgotten?  His father was still on the floor!

"Yes, I'm on my way now," he replied as he got up and headed toward the door.  He took one

last look at the man who helped him.  I don't even know his name, Samson thought.

Samson stopped walking out the door and walked over to the man.  "Fam, what's your name?"

"Will," the man replied.

"Will, I just want to thank you for what you did for me.  It's little things like that...that

makes a huge difference in somebody's day.  Thanks."

"No problem, man.  I'm glad I could help."

As Samson started heading back out the door, he noticed a woman with a bun and a green jacket

come from behind the employee door.  The security guard nodded in her direction as if to tell

Samson that she was the woman that he had been waiting for.  

Samson approached her.  "Excuse me, can I talk to you for a minute?"

She did not even look at Samson.  "I can't talk now, you're going to have to get in line."

"I need to tell you something."

She stopped.  She looked at Samson.  "You need to get in line."

She began walking off, and Samson looked down at his paper.


THE ENEMY ONLY HAS IMAGES AND ILLUSIONS THAT THEY HIDE BEHIND.  IF YOU DESTROY THE IMAGE, THEN

YOU DESTROY THE ENEMY.

"Humanity is for humans!" Samson yelled out.

The woman stopped and turned around.  "What?"

"Congratulations!  You're finally a machine!"  Samson began clapping very loudly.  Lots of

people began clapping almost instantaneous.  This scared Samson at first, but then he felt

exhilarated.  

The security guard stood up.

"And you are too!"  Samson yelled.  "All of you are!  Except Will!"

All of the workers turned and looked at Will.  He nervously began looking around.

Samson continued.  "You people care more about that shitty computer more than you do the

people standing right here in front of you!  I don't know why you got this job.  Maybe you

just needed a job.  Or maybe you just wanted to help people.  But somewhere along the line,

all of these people's faces started looking the same.  You started staring at the computer

screen more than you did people's faces.  After a while, you promised yourself that you would

never become one of us!   That's why we all look the same to you!  You could have been one of

us!  You were in the right place at the right time and got the job.  I kept ending up at the

wrong place at the wrong time, and you know what, it was still my fault that I failed.  

Because I knew that I should have just told myself that everything would be okay and kept

positive.  But it's people like you that make us want to give up!  It's people like you that

make me ask myself, 'What's the point?'  What's the point of being nice, when everyone who

actually has a job treats you like crap?  What's the point of trying to be human when everyone

around you is machine?  My father is laying in pile of his own piss and shit right now, and

I'm down here spilling my guts out to a bunch of robots who could care less!  So if it's one

thing you take from what I'm saying..."

Samson walked over to Will.

"Listen to this man!  Because he is the only person in here who has any empathy left.  He

looked at me and could tell that my problem was a big problem.  But he didn't even ask me what

it was.  But now I'm telling you.  My dad has cancer and fell over on the floor, and I have to

leave to go get him.  But if I leave, I don't eat.  This man did something so simple that

changed my life.  He EMPATHIZED.  That's all it takes sometimes.  Is little empathy.  So

please, listen to this man.  God wants you to listen to this man.  If you don't listen to this

man, the sun will not rise correctly tomorrow.  God will be mad at you!  He has something that

none of you have.  A heart.  He moves with the will of God.  So listen to him.  Because if you

don't, then you're going to have a bunch of robots walking around here who could care less

about my dad...or your mother...or your son....or your daughter.  It could have been you.  I

could have been you.  Never forget that.  Never forget my dad on the floor.  Pray for him.  

Pray for the man who shared this story with you.  Pray for me.  Pray for the man who handed

you this paper.  That is the only thing he wants."

The woman's mouth was wide open.  She began blinking as if she was fighting back tears.  The

security guard had sat back down in her chair and was leaning all the way back.  Then it

happened.  

Everyone began clapping at the same time.  People began talking to each other and laughing.  

Some people were showing others the paper that the tall man had passed out.  Everyone was

talking to everyone.  

Samson stood back and looked at what he created.  He smiled.  As he turned around and walked

out the door, he noticed that there was something on the back of the paper.  He turned the

paper over.  It read,

"Everything on this paper might be wrong."

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