“Umm…” I looked around. “I’m really not sure what we’re doing.”
“We’re tweeting. It’s like manual social networking. Because you can’t just put anything up,” she said nastily. “You have to clear it through Debra. You can’t just steal whatever or whoever’s man you want.”
I let my patronizing smile fall and the comment go. “Debra who?”
She pointed over to Debra—my Debra, who’d gone her own way—was now there, trying to kick start a bare bones and extremely limited social media revolution. She beamed next to her large bulletin board and waved index cards at all of us.
“Who wants to submit a tweet for consideration?” she asked as she strolled up and down the line. “And if you like it, you can draw an emoticon or retweet what someone else said.
“I already have one.” Destiny waved her card at me. “Wanna see? It’s about my relationship with Jake.”
I glanced down and saw Jake’s name with lots of hearts drawn around it. I gave her a nice smile.
“Boy,” I said. “Think about how much better your sense of design will be when you don’t communicate like an eighth grader.”
She rolled her eyes and then fought her way to the front.
Debra took another girl’s tweet card. “Ooooh, look!” she said. “Amanda really enjoyed the broth and rolls that were served at lunch today. That’s definitely going up on the board. Hashtag delish!”
“Nice to get back to basics,” someone said behind me. “It’s like the old Twitter, but we’re having an actual conversation face-to-face.”
Debra spotted me from the back of the line and rushed over to see me.
“You!” She gave me a huge smile and grabbed me into a huge hug. I winced at the obscene amount of perfume that covered days of body odor. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Nice to see you too, Debra.”
She beamed. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve started a new career!”
She squeezed my hands, and I smiled back.
“That’s really great,” I said. “Although I’m confused at how one starts a career in an end-times job market.”
She shook her head, lips pursed. “I’m a lifestyle consultant.”
“Nope,” I said. “That wasn’t a job when things were normal and it’s not a job now.”
She ignored my comment. “Please enjoy the Twitter board. Everyone else is.”
I nodded. “Can’t wait for that.”
“Where’s Robert?” she asked. “In a meeting I suppose.”
We both laughed with fake volume at her joke.
I shrugged. “Possibly around here,” I said. “He got engaged, and they’re leaving for the north. Or something.”
Debra suddenly became a tad more reserved. “Engaged?”
“Please.” I folded my arms. “It’ll never last.”
“Engaged?” she said. “Wasn’t he already married?”
“Maybe.” I nodded again, slowly remembering. “I think her name was Sarah or Chantal or something.”
“How does this happen?” she asked. “I just saw him a few days ago.”
“Lots of conventions got thrown out while you were gone,” I said. “Like how cannibals are a thing.
Debra put her hands over her ears. “Why do you talk about that? Stop bringing that up. It’s upsetting!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She put an arm around me and led me out of the group. “We should tweet about it.” She started to scribble. “We’ve never been close,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to tweet it?” She offered me a card. I smiled and took it. “Sometimes people start flame wars. We don’t support that, but we do encourage getting things to trend. Like ‘Cannibal.’”
“Let me think on it.”
“You were always so witty.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Although I never got into the whole social network thing.”
“You know what your problem is?” she asked and cocked her head to the side. “You’re just not willing to see the bigger picture. Make a people connection. This is nice for others, and you’re too worried about being in your own comfort zone.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” I said. “At least not today.”
“Maybe if you thought of someone other than yourself,” she said in a low condescending tone. “I heard you beat up a little boy for his medicine.” She raised her eyebrow.
“I think of other people,” I said. “So many times at work, I’ve gotten you out jams. And that kid is a friggin’ liar!”
“Where’s Robert now?”
I thought for a moment, scanned the crowd.
“You don’t know, do you?” she asked.
“That’s hardly my fault,” I said. “He’s got a fiancée to worry about. He was going to leave. Maybe he’s already gone.”
“That’s it,” she said. “You’re banned from Twitter, but I can’t guarantee that people won’t talk about you.”
She turned away and walked into the crowd. “Attention, everyone, today’s trending topic is Verdell’s Useless.”
“Alternate hashtag is ‘Oh come on!’” I said. I looked around, satisfied in my joke and hoping someone else was too. Instead it was ignored.
I watched her walk up to the front of the line. “Selfie booth is coming soon, guys!”
“I’ll show you who’s useless and selfish,” I shouted after her. “Everyone else in the room but me, that’s who.”
A little girl limped in front of me.
“Hey!” I said as I caught up and knelt in front of her. “Are you okay? Do you need help finding your mom?”
The girl faced me, revealing herself to be a little person. “I’m a grown woman,” she said. “I’m perfectly capable.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just thought you were lost. You seemed like you had a limp.”
“Yeah,” she snarled. “That’s what happens when a big guy tries to attack you and your two kids. I kicked his ass and strained a muscle in the process.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Sorry for the confusion. You clearly have things under control.”
“Nooo,” she said sarcastically. “I need tall people to hold my hand.”
She stormed off. I walked in the opposite direction and then commandeered the line at the soup bowl.
“What are you doing?” asked the girl with the ladle.
“I’m reaching out for others,” I said. “How many scoops do we give out?”
She breathed a sigh of relief and shoved the spoon at me.
“Thank god,” she said. “Last time I do anything to impress a boy.” With that, she was gone. “I’m free!” she shouted.
So I gave out soup to a line of people who never seemed to end. It just kept going with endless faces every time—sad, depressed faces that looked at me with sorry eyes. I dunked that spoon into the pot and poured its contents into their bowls until the pot ran out. And then like magic, a grizzled man came up with a new one and replaced it without a word.
“Sir?” I asked. “Thank you for—”
He grunted and walked off.
If no one questioned the system, then neither would I. Instead, I ladled and avoided eye contact. Uncomfortable at first, but bowl after bowl made the day go by incredibly fast. I kept going until I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned around and looked at a man I hadn’t seen before, holding out a large platter of sandwiches.
“Wait,” he said, squinting. “You’re not Elizabeth. Or are you?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m Verdell.”
“So, where is she?”
“Was she the blonde who served earlier today?”
“Not her,” he said flatly. “Elizabeth was that fat girl with facial hair and liked to yell at everybody. I gave her this job three days ago.”
“I just took this job from a blonde girl,” I said. “Sorry.”