"Last night was amazing," Aaron texts.
Ehh, it sufficed.
I reply with a red heart… I don't know if I have the right words right now.
I have my first day of orientation for my volunteer work at Marie's Soups in Manhattan. It's a nonprofit organization that feeds New York's homeless population. They have locations all over the state. It looks good on college applications, but in general, I like helping people get the bare minimum that they require. Everyone should be able to live comfortably.
It's always baffled me how we have enough resources in the world to feed everyone, yet millions of people are left starving. I blame billionaires. They have enough money to distribute to the poor, and still end up wealthy. We have no real need for billionaires. I can write an entire essay on this… truly.
Sadly, one of the main benefactors of Marie's Soups is Drake Staple, the CEO of Staple Oil. I think he inherited the company from his father, but I'm not sure. What would he know about charity or giving back to the poor? I'm pretty confident that he started funding Marie's because of public backlash against his partying habits.
While this is a college essay or a project for some, I actually care about the marginalized.
I drive to the Manhattan location at about 9 am… orientation's at 9:30. Did I know what time it was in advance? Yes. Would I have been late either way? Yes.
This opportunity is wonderful because not only do I get to help the poor, but I get to disassociate from my unwelcomed internet popularity.
Of course, because of New York's horrendous traffic, I get there at 9:45. The supervisor is laying down the ground rules and stating policies as I walk in.
I try to discreetly settle into one of the chairs in the back when she says, "Hello, what's your name?"
I turn slowly and point to myself.
She nods.
"Genevieve, but everyone calls me Gen," I smile.
"Okay, Gen. You're 15 minutes late, but that booklet has most of the information in it. You can learn the rest as I go."
I nod. A little passive aggressive, but I was 15 minutes late…
The girl next to me taps my shoulder. I turn and give her a small smile.
"She mostly just went over the amount of food to give each person and the protocol for interactions with anyone. You didn't miss much."
"Okay, thanks. I thought I would actually have to read this big ass book," I whisper.
She chuckles in response.
I'm secretly still going to read it.
I face back to the front. I don't want the supervisor, whose name I still don't know, to think I'm just here to fill my minimum requirement of service hours. I'm serious about this.
She continues with corporate banter and something about an NDA that we need to sign. I don't get why we need to jump through so many hoops just to help people.
As she's handing out the contracts, Drake Staple walks in with someone.
"Welcome, everyone," he announces.
The woman next to him is dressed in a sleek slip-on gown, which I don't think is appropriate for this…
"I'm happy that we have so many volunteers this year. Marie's Soups is dedicated to providing food and shelter for the poor, so thank you all for deciding to give back this summer," he flashes his bright corporate smile.
"My office is over here," he points, "and my secretary Ms. Ware can help with any questions you all might have."
He heads over to his office and leaves half of the participants—females in particular—gawking at his looks. Some of them are still staring at the spot he stood in before leaving.
I personally don't get the appeal. His company produces toxic oil and drops it into the ocean while boasting its care for the poor. Every "good" thing the company does gets cancelled out by the bullshit things it does. The oil industry in general is toxic as hell, not to mention the child laborers they take advantage of around the world. I'm sure this organization just boosts that guy's ego. He's a conservative, rightist prick, and I don't see any real appeal.
He might have a few physical… advantages, but overall I don't see it. Every guy with blue eyes and black cropped hair makes girls swoon. The bar is on the floor.
"He is so hot," my desk partner says. Really?
I shrug. She frowns dramatically and mocks my movement, "Huh? Are you a female or… wait, are you a lesbian?"
"What?! No, I just don't think he's all that," I shrug. Also, even if I was attracted to him, what chances would I have, being a minority?
"Oh," her expression softens, "You're one of them."
I wrinkle my brows. "Playing hard to get, huh?"
"No. I genuinely do not like that guy," I blurt.
Her expression stills and I turn to the direction where her startled glance points.
Shit.
Drake Staple is standing right behind me with a confused look. He's so close, I can smell his cologne.
"What guy?" he asks.
"Just some…" I stutter.
"Don't worry," he cuts me off, "I'm not here to put you on blast, but I don't condone gossip. Do that on non-volunteer hours," he says curtly.
Did he hear…?
He turns to enter his office once more, leaving my partner and me speechless.
"You are definitely hot for him."
I turn sharply, "What the hell? Is that all you got from that altercation?"
She nods swiftly. At least she's honest.
"I have a boyfriend. Besides, he's way older than me."
She rolls her eyes, "Age ain't nothing but a number."
…said R. Kelly.
"You're weird. What's your name?" I ask.
"I'm Claire. Nice to meet you, Gen."
"Nice to meet you too, Claire," I smile.
We decide to walk around the city once the meeting's over.
"There's this Dominican restaurant I love. It's only a few blocks away from here."
"Good, I drove."
She looks at me with horror written on her face.
"You-You drove? In New York City?" she asks in disbelief.
Sorry, I'm not from the city.
"I live a half hour out from the city, but my parents work here. I have to drive to most of the places I want to go," I raise my hands in defense.
She takes a deep breath, "Okay. I'm making it my mission to teach you how to use the subway… and," she emphasizes, "I'm introducing you to the wonderful phenomenon that is NYC cuisine."
I nod swiftly. I guess I'm becoming her project… I'm not fully opposed.
"Also, I'm showing you the best clothing shops. None of that Columbus Mall shit," she scolds.
Oops.
I put on a sheepish smile.
She catches on and slaps her forehead, "I have more work than I thought."
I chuckle. I'm eager to learn. I've never been able to get into the real New York City, but now I can.
Once we get to the restaurant, I see the long ass line wrapping around the corner. If I was by myself, this would be a hell no.
She notices my panicked expression and laughs. "Relax, I'm Claire Vega. I get free food and line-skipping privileges."
I shrug like that's supposed to mean something. Going along with her, I cut the line. Dozens of people whisper—more like shout—objections to our movement, and she ignores them.
As we reach the front, a cashier says, "Welcome to Vega's, what would you—"
She stops when she sees us instead of the couple behind us.
"Your family owns the restaurant," I smile.
"I guess I was a little biased when I said I loved the place," she smiles mischievously.
I already love this girl.
We turn to the cashier and she looks fed up. I guess Claire cuts the line a lot. I don't blame her… it's longer than this city block. That means the food has to be good.
"Two—wait, are you a picky eater?"
I open my mouth to speak.
"Doesn't matter. By the time I'm done with you, you won't be," she continues. "Two pollo guisados."
Well, damn.
We sit down at one of the tables as we wait for the food.
"I know pollo means chicken but…"
"It's just a chicken stew over rice. It's good, I swear."
"I can tell by the long ass line."
"Oh, that? That's just the pre-rush hour crowd."
"P-Pre-rush hour?" I ask in disbelief.
She nods nonchalantly.
The cashier taps the bell by the cash register and puts two white containers on the counter.
With a scowl, she hands the boxes to Claire. "I'm giving you the orders of some guy that placed them over an hour ago. We're short-staffed, Claire. I told you to stop cutting the line."
Claire rolls her eyes, "Blah-blah, thanks prima."
She turns, then remembers my presence. "Oh, this is Gen," she points.
"Hi," I smile.
"This is my cousin, Maria."
"Here you go again, dragging anyone you see on the street in here," her cousin scolds.
Claire frowns. "No disrespect to you, but she always makes random friends. We can't keep up," Maria chuckles.
I laugh, "We met at Marie's Soups, where we're both volunteering."
Her cousin nods, "Welcome to Vega's."
Claire sighs, "Okay, let's go upstairs."
I follow her up a hidden staircase, which leads us to an apartment on top of the restaurant.