I and (some of) my co-workers have a terrible habit of nicknaming people at work.
And I have to say, we’re pretty good at it.

How did they get these names? WELL. LET ME TELL YOU A STORY.

This Jackass at work called himself reprimanding me ‘cause some random patient couldn’t reach me on the phone
because apparently I’m just a robot who is not allowed to get up from my desk to go pee. Or fetch files. Or ANYTHING.
ANYWAYS. He tells this person that if he can’t reach me again to contact him and he’ll make sure I do my job.

And I did what any professional would do:
I went to my actual boss and told on him.
And because she’s awesome, she set up a meeting with me, him and HIS boss.
In this meeting, I let him know in no uncertain terms that he ain’t shit, and he ain’t never gon’ BE shit.
And if he has a problem with me he needs to TAKE IT UP WITH MY BOSS.
At which point he starts tap dancing and beat boxing because “pfft…uhhh…He would never PRESUME…”
Some of y’all don’t really know me, so take note. I am never here for the BS.
And I believe in clapping back in the most professional way possible. With a smile. At work.
Catch me in the street and please believe these hands are rated E for Everyone.

After that, whenever I was talking about him I called him Bojangles.
(related: I had no idea there was a video)
(also you should maybe not click that if you’re still at work)

He DEFINITELY was not as awesome as Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. (TA-DAAAAA!!)
Bill Robinson was the best known and most highly paid African American entertainer in the first half of the twentieth century.
His long career mirrored changes in American entertainment tastes and technology, starting in the age of minstrel shows, moving to vaudeville, Broadway, the recording industry, Hollywood radio, and television.
He is best known today for his dancing with Shirley Temple in a series of films during the 1930s, and for starring in the musical Stormy Weather (1943), loosely based on Robinson’s own life, and selected for preservation in the National Film Registry.
Robinson used his popularity to challenge and overcome numerous racial barriers, including:

• one of the first minstrel and vaudeville performers to appear without the use of blackface makeup
• one of the earliest African American performers to go solo, overcoming vaudeville’s two colored rule (One black is not enough. Three blacks is TOO GD MANY)
• a headliner in the first African-American Broadway show, Blackbirds of 1928
• the first African American to appear in a Hollywood film in an interracial dance team (with Temple in The Little Colonel)
• the first African American to headline a mixed-race Broadway production

During his lifetime and afterwards, Robinson also came under heavy criticism for his participation in and tacit acceptance of racial stereotypes of the era, with critics calling him an Uncle Tom figure. Robinson resented such criticism, and his biographers suggested that critics were at best incomplete in making such a characterization, especially given that Hollywood has a history (and a present) of only offering African Americans VERY SPECIFIC types of roles (I mean…how do you think they keep the #OscarsSoWhite?)

Also. In his public life Robinson led efforts to:
• persuade the Dallas police department to hire its first African American policemen
• lobby President Roosevelt during World War II for more equitable treatment of African American soldiers
• stage the first integrated public event in Miami, a fundraiser which was attended by both black and white city residents

Robinson is remembered for the support he gave to fellow performers, including Fred Astaire, Lena Horne, Jesse Owens, and the Nicholas brothers.
Any tap dancer worth his tap shoes credits Bill “Bojangles” Robinson as an influence.
AND! In 1989, the U.S. Congress designated May 25, Robinson’s birthday, as National Tap Dance Day.

Which is completely different that my ex-coworker Bojangles.
Who ended up getting fired for biting another co-worker on the job.
Until tomorrow!