Culture Shock

Not for the first time in my life am I surrounded by young black women. The first time was back in the early 1990s when I enrolled in Wilfred Beauty Academy in NYC. I got to the city by chance. I'd been living in Portland, Maine working quite contentedly as an order operator for L.L. Bean when a friend convinced me to move with him. The plan was that we'd stay in Boston for the summer (he'd just broken up with his bf) and move on to New York in the fall. His sister had been living in Manhattan for several years and was moving to Florida to be with her future husband. My friend, being ambitious and newly accepted to NYU School of Law, was inheriting her rent-controlled apartment and needed a roommate.
As with so many other decisions, my response was "why not?"
Well, we didn't make it to NYC quite on schedule, and after a year or so in a low-level, really gay job in Boston, we moved.
It was my goal at that time to become a hair dresser. The plan was to stay in Manhattan for five years: go to school, apprentice, and end up at the best salon in the city. I figured five years was enough for me to be making some serious money and at that point (no longer being poor/struggling), I'd be able to make an informed decision as to whether or not I'd stay there.
When I got to the city there was only one beauty school remaining on the island. (The aforementioned Wilfred.) The other school -- the "fun" one I was later told -- had closed the previous year after some financial improprieties.
Upon enrollment, I discovered that I was one of two white guys in the class.* It turns out NYC had (has?) some sort of program where welfare mothers can attend technical schools for free and the class was loaded up.
Now, you can imagine what this was like for a little white boy from Maine (often, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, the whitest state in the Union).
My fears, unfounded, were promptly allayed when I was adopted by the queen bee of this particular group (Suzy Q a.k.a. Susan Johnson) and made their unofficial mascot.
One of my fondest memories of beauty school was after Sue convinced me to do her relaxer one day in class. In her excitement, she started screaming out "White boy doing perm! White boy doing perm!" A crowd gathered briefly and my endorsement was official.
(One of my least favorite memories was getting sent home for the day. I'd eaten something bad, it gave me food poisoning which resulted in some serious jaundice and gas. Figure it out.)
Ultimately though, school ended and while my classmates went to their respective neighborhoods, I went to midtown where I worked here and here and eventually wound up here. My last job in NYC helped me achieve my ultimate goal of making a lot of money. I found myself a cute boyfriend** and moved to Park Slope. But in the end I just was not happy. I found myself comparing the Brooklyn neighborhood to my adopted hometown of Portland, Maine and wound up moving back there in January 1996.
I would not trade my time at Wilfred*** for anything. While the education itself was lacking (relying on an outdated program which has NO bearing on what you're currently required to do in hair salons), it opened me up to a new group of people and for that I am extremely grateful.
I think it's helped me adapt to my new environment. The population down here is significantly African-American and after having lived in Portland (this time) for 12 years (still the whitest state in the Union), it's not quite a culture shock.
And... some of the girls are impressed that I can actually say their names correctly.

*The other white guy didn't graduate. We heard it was drugs.
**He stayed in New York.
***No longer in business. Again, I heard it was financial impropriety.