She’s All that (There Is)

Leaving the kitchen and stepping out into the community center’s converted bingo hall Was strangely nerve wracking. It was more disgusting than anything, but the thought of anyone seeing me dressed up like a lunch lady was certainly unnerving. The room reeks of old people and it feels like the few other volunteers setting up the tables towards the back of the room could see right through me. I’m not some weak bitch with social anxiety or anything. What would I possibly have to be anxious about? Everyone loves me or at the very least worships me. Even the people who hate me the most grovel at my feet. It always feels a bit uncomfortable establishing myself as the head bitch in any new social situation though. People don’t appreciate a bad bitch right away. You always have to charm them first with the innocent god loving do no wrong girl act first. Only over time can you start to weave in bits of gossip and kattiness. It’s what everyone truly wants. People crave dirt and gossip, but they pretend they don’t to feel morally superior. It’s a lot of pressure to craft such a careful specific persona and it takes a lot of hard work and strategizing. It’s definitely going to be extra hard to do surrounded by pompous good samaritans nobodies while dressed like a genderless line cook.

 

“So uh,” Eli starts, after I place the pot down on the table, “What you’re going to want to do is fill up the bowls and pass them down. It’s pretty easy. Most of the time I spend here is just me talking to the regulars.”

 

He places a stack of bowls on the right side of me and walks around to the other side. I’m painfully aware of how close he is between me and the wall as he does so. I drop a ladle full of soup into the first bowl I pick up eager to get through this so I can get back to planning my first steps in climbing the small social ladder that is community center soup kitchen volunteers. The stew splashes back up into my face and I’m so shocked and repulsed I nearly drop the bowl. Instead I place it right by the edge of the table and back almost against the wall like I’m being attacked by a wild animal.

 

“Ew what the fuck!”

 

Eli snickers at my extreme misfortune like the little shit he is. 

 

“It’s not funny! That’s so gross!”

 

“Sorry. Are you okay?” He asks, offering a hand towel that he had brought out with the bowls.

 

“Sometimes there’s spills” he explains, as if that’s what’s important right now.

 

“Ugh. Yeah, I’m fine. Would’ve helped to get some kind of warning though.” I say, wiping the goop off of my face and chest, suddenly very glad I opted against wearing a white button down.

 

“You don’t cook much do you?”

“What? Just because I’m a girl I’m supposed to know my way around the kitchen?”

 

“No, it’s just… It helps to pour the stew down the sides so you don’t get a lot of splashback” Eli said, while demonstrating.

 

“Do you cook a lot?” I ask following his example and filling up the rest of the bowl careful not to make the same mistake as before.

 

“Somewhat. My mom mostly just drinks and watches jeopardy so I do a lot of the cooking for the three of us.”

 

I suppose I’ve always been pretty lucky in that my parents are both functional alcoholics unlike Steph’s mom or plenty of other people my age. They’re plenty dysfunctional, her a jealous manipulative wino, and him a misogynistic prick pastor, but to any peering eye that doesn’t have to live with them they are the picture perfect family everyone strives for. Of course he doesn’t need to know any of that, nor would it matter if he did. If there’s anything life has taught me it’s that people only care about what things look like. The repetitive motion of filling bowl after bowl lets me slip easily into a trance like state while I think about how the hell I will trick the messy disaster nerd next to me into becoming a shoe in for prom queen. The doors open without me even noticing and I’m caught off guard when the first grease covered hobo approaches the table. I’m so glad that Eli is the one handing them bowls so that I don’t have to risk one of them accidentally touching me or have to talk to any of them directly.

 

The tiny voice of my father in my ear says none of these people would be homeless if they could just pull themselves up by their bootstraps and get a job, but clearly no one smells that much like shit on purpose. Besides, all of his sermons these days are written by AI so it’s not like he’s really working very hard at all either. I feel as if a fog has enveloped my body and I’m watching my body moving on its own from the outside as time seems to speed past. I try to make conversation with some of the other volunteers as they pass by, but all of them seem too busy doing other things to stick around to talk. I only really notice the hobos coming to the table peripherally, but Eli really seems in his own element talking to the few he seems to recognize. I’d say his chumming it up with dirty hobos is part of the problem, but I suppose even I’m not jaded enough to believe helping people in need is a bad thing. It’s just that saying you did something good for piss poor needy bastards is much more socially rewarding than actually doing it. No one wants to see you help the homeless. The homeless are ugly and gross. They’d rather just hear you say you did it.

 

Many of the people coming up for soup are actually a lot less gross and ugly than expected though. Some of them seem normal even. At one point a mom comes up with her kid. The kid couldn’t be older than 10 and he clearly looks ashamed to be here. The mother doesn’t look much more comfortable either. I feel bad for them. Their clothes are mostly clean and if I saw them on the sidewalk I’m not sure I would be able to tell they were homeless. I actually feel pretty bad for them. I know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be surely they wouldn’t either. A few teens about our age come in alone. For a moment I dread the thought that I might get filmed and have my public humiliation posted all over Tiktok but like many of the other people in line they don’t especially seem happy to be here.Their shoes are more hole than shoe and they refuse to make eye contact with either of us. It’s almost freeing in a sense. Aside from the occasional nut job none of the people here seem to really care about how I look or act.

It makes sense why Eli spends so much time here none of these people are in any place to judge him for how he looks. Compared to them he looks almost angelic, but even if he didn’t it doesn’t seem like anyone outside of this room would ever know. I actually feel like maybe for the first time ever I can breathe without worrying about how people see me. No one is happy to be here except for maybe Eli. Anyone who admits they saw me here would have to admit that they too were in a soup kitchen. I feel so relaxed I even catch myself feeling good about being able to help people. I guess it had been a while since I had done very much community service. Our family’s church used to do a lot more of it. Not that I had participated in church charity since I was 13 but the congregation definitely got more conservative after covid and stopped really offering much to the rest of the community. I guess it’s pretty easy not to help people when you blame all of the world's problems on the people most affected by it.

 

For someone who seems to get tongue tied talking to the janitor Eli seems to have no issue talking to the people coming in off the street. He handles each interaction with such grace and compassion that for a moment I wish I could be the kind of person he effortlessly appears to be. I’m not fooled though. The nicest people are always the rudest bitches in private. If he looked more cookie cutter, pretty girl, basic and played the social game better that quality would do well to earn him the prom queen crown. After all is said and done I almost wish there were more open kitchen hours, although I would never admit that to anyone. El and I help with the cleanup, stacking chairs, putting away the dishes and folding up tables. By the time we’re done Jefferey thanks me for coming out and invites me to come again sometime and I actually consider it. The thought of being able to be somewhere without anyone watching me is so very tempting. Almost enough I consider not posting the pics I snuck off to take to tell the whole internet about my charity. Almost. It’ll certainly help rehabilitate my image after the whole ordeal with Vanessa. 

 

“You were pretty good in there” Eli says, as we leave through the back together, “ I had no idea how strong you were.”

 

“Thanks. You know I actually enjoyed myself a lot more than I thought I would.”

 

“It feels great to help people doesn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, you know I think I’m going to have to come back sometime and do this again.”

 

“Really? I kinda thought you’d be too shallow for something like this, but I’d love to do this with you again sometime.”

 

“Me too. Do you have a ride?”

 

“Oh, um, actually I took the bus…”

 

“Here, I’ll order you an Uber. Where do you live?”

 

“Uh, no. You don’t have to do that.”

 

“Why not? It’ll be much faster than taking the bus back.”

 

“Okay… But I’ll pay you back.”

 

“You don’t have to do that. My family is loaded. Money isn’t even an issue to me.”

 

Eli looks a bit uncomfortable and shifty but I let him enter his address in my phone and wait with him for it to arrive.

 

We both sit on the curb to wait. Eli hands back my phone

 

“Did you drive here?” He asks.

 

“No actually. Sometimes my dad lets me use the church van but my mom is using it today so she just dropped me off. I’m getting a ride home with Steph.”

 

“Church van?”

“Yeah, my dad’s a pastor.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that about you.”

 

“I’m sure there’s plenty you don’t know about me.” I say, moving some hair out of his face to get a better look at him.

 

“I think you really proved that today.” He blushes and I know I have him on the hook.

 

I cup his face with my hand and I’m mesmerized by his brilliant green orbs.

 

“You have beautiful eyes. I bet if you used some concealer on those eye bags and used some eye makeup it would really make them pop.”

 

Eli pulls away from my hand and stands up so fast I barely have time to react. 

 

“God, I can’t believe I let you fool me. This is exactly what I was expecting from you Alyssa. You just want someone to humiliate. Cancel the Uber I’m walking home.” he says, and storms off. 

 

“Eli, wait! What did I say?”

 

I consider chasing after him, but Steph texts me letting me know she’s just around the corner.