“Mexia – you know, like Anna Nicole Smith?” I probably shouldn’t have mentioned her. Her life was full of scandal and sorrow, nothing that I would want. I mean, I like that she moved away from Mexia but her life wasn’t exactly one I would want to mirror, especially the stripping part, no sirrree. I’d rather scoop buckets of turd for the rest of my life than strip down for a bunch of dirty old men. Yuck.
Brandon laughs. “Anna Nicole Smith? Didn’t she die a few years ago?”
I’m not sure why he would be laughing about somebody’s death. Maybe he is just awkward. “Yes, she did, very tragically, bless her heart.” I stop in front of the cafeteria. Through the glass windows I can see rows of tables filled with businesslike-looking people with their suits and ties and nice skirts, and then there is a table of some of my classmates. I swallow – kind of reminds me of high school. I was never fond of the cafeteria. Even in Mexia there were cliques. I’m hesitant to revisit those memories. Maybe I ought to skip lunch today and wait outside in the courtyard or something.
“Come on, aren’t you going to get some lunch?” Brandon pushes open the door and waves me in. My hesitation is diminished by viewing his large arm and his welcoming me into the lunchroom. I guess it might be okay if I were to eat with him, if this is an invitation for that.
“Yes, I suppose I will.” I push past him and make my way toward the cafeteria line. I’m not a fan of cafeteria food. But now that I’ve already said I’ll have lunch I have to decide which pig slop I’m going to shovel down my throat.
Pale – obviously canned – green beans, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes and fried chicken sit in rectangular silver dishes. I’m no gourmet food person, but I can tell the difference between canned and frozen beans. My mama always switched to canned food toward the end of the month. I always knew funds were getting tight, as she would say, when the can opener became a daily utensil in our house. My mama supported us on her cleaning job and making blankets for all her friends and their babies. But even with the extra blanket money, one thing or another would come up and we’d be eating canned food again. Canned beans aren’t bad, but the green vegetables… no thank you. I slide my tray past all of the pre-packaged, preservative-stuffed food and opt for the salad bar. At least there I can mix and match some of the fresh vegetables and add some of my favorite sunflower seeds. Brandon is at my heels except he’s managed to fill up his tray with almost every item being offered. I understand a man of his size might need more to eat than me, but, shoot, he looks like he thinks he is a camel and not going to see food for months.
I finish sorting through the veggies and head for the register. I pull my wallet out of my purse and Brandon tries to offer the cashier a twenty-dollar bill for our food.
“Now, hold on a second, you can’t pay for my meal.” I wave his money away. “I’m sorry about that. Here is my money for my lunch.” I give the cashier a ten-dollar bill and she hands me the change with a discerning look. Did she expect me to let him pay for my food? I only met him two shakes of a lamb’s tail ago.
I scan the cafeteria seating options and Brandon nods toward an empty table. I follow behind him, admiring his build; if thoughts were sins, I would be needing to do some serious penance right now. Brandon sits down at the white and metal table and I take the seat in front of him.
“So, do you always try and pay for strangers’ meals?” I raise an eyebrow at him as I take a bite of my salad. It’s crunchy, but for a salad this is a good thing. I can’t stand when my salad is wilted. What’s the point in eating rotten food?
“Sorry about that; I just usually pay if I’m with a lady.” Brandon shovels some mashed potatoes into his mouth. His eyes are inspecting my face, like I’m a map and he’s figuring out how to get from point A to point B.
I laugh. “But Brandon, you just met me a minute ago and we aren’t really together. I mean, we are together physically, but we’re classmates. Would you pay for all your female classmates’ food?”
The sides of Brandon’s mouth pull up and his teeth are showing: big, white, healthy teeth. My mama would declare that this man comes from good stock after eyeing those chompers.
“If we had walked in together like you and I did, then, yes, I would offer to pay. I’m sorry if that bothered you; it’s how I was raised.” Brandon winks at me.
I’m going to melt in my chair. And it is really tepid in here, reminds me of working at Dairy Queen; they always keep the temperature at seventy degrees so as to keep the ice cream from forming big puddles in the buckets. Nobody likes drippy ice cream.
“Well, that solves that, thank you. What position are you looking to be hired for after the training is up?”
“Not sure, that’s still up in the air. I want to try all of the positions so that I can really get a good feel for the organization. I know that when Richard Blue started the company, he worked every position and requires this of all of his executive staff.” He pauses and stares into my eyes, like he’s thinking about whether or not to share something with me. “I will be following in his path.” Brandon takes another large bite of his fried chicken.
I try and swallow all the information he’s given. He’s headed for the executive path? I know Blue Ribbon says they require all employees to go through the training program, but I didn’t think this applied to the executive staff.
“Where did you go to school?” I let my curiosity jump out from underneath me. I wish I could pull that question back in and try to say it softer… but too late, it’s already out there. I know he must have gone to school somewhere because there is no way he thinks he can be an executive for Blue Ribbon if he doesn’t have a degree. I know this because I had to have a degree in order to advance to the next level of product development, which is by no means equal to the executive level.
“East of here, how about you?” Brandon takes a big bite of his buttery roll. I wish I had grabbed a buttery roll, but that wasn’t an option with the salad, just those darn white flakey crackers, which probably aren’t meant for the salad but for the soup.
“I got my degree with Eagle Online.” I’m still proud of that degree. Of course, it’s only been a month since I finished all of my courses. I could have driven to the graduation ceremony but that would have cost a pretty penny. So I just watched the video presentation; they said they would read all the students’ names even if they weren’t there. And sure enough they read my name… wrong. Sarah, my name is not Sarah. It’s Sahara… I don’t understand how a college person would get the pronunciation wrong, as if they couldn’t read each letter. I suppose they read over what letters are there and autocorrect them in their brain.
Brandon nods at me. “Isn’t that the place that says: accreditation is just a word?”
I pull back my head for second. “I think that’s the saying, why?”
Brandon shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone who went there.”
I look at Brandon closely, trying to work out if he’s looking down on me, on account of his own fancy college education.
He catches my look and says, “I just didn’t know it was a real university.”
I nod. But I’m anything but agreeing with him or the situation. Shoot. What have I got myself into? Here I am in front of Mr. Blue-eyed Dreamboat and he swipes the carpet from beneath me. Is he saying that my degree isn’t real because it didn’t come from a college like his? All the hours I spent studying and the money I paid for it tells me everything I need to know. They have a TV commercial and everything. Maybe he is wrong or maybe he is just cynical; yeah, he is probably just a spoilsport. Given his looks and all he has, he’s probably never had to struggle and just views the world and regular people’s lives as a joke or something. That must be it.
“It’s, uh, my degree is in business. After the training program is up I’ll be a product development associate here at the creamery.” I raise my shoulders