18. Olivia
DAY ONE OF THE 2024 OLYMPICS
When Olivia arrived at the Village for her third day, she marched over to Olympic prison—or the OOC Office as some people liked to call it—to make a deal with Noah from HR. She told him that she was going to spend the next two weeks doing such a good job that he would have no choice but to write her a glowing reference and consider her for one of their autumn graduate programs.
But her resolution to say yes to everything and excel at every walkie-talkie request hit its first stumbling block when the equestrian team called for help with “cleanup.” When Olivia spoke to the stable master on her walkie-talkie, she tried her very best not to think about what he actually meant by “cleanup.” But as soon as she arrived at the stable, Friedrich, the German head stable keeper, handed her a pair of overalls and led her out to the dressage field. She smelled the horse poo before she saw it.
“How long have you been doing this?” she asked Friedrich, trying to distract herself from the smell by getting him talking.
“Picking up horse shit? An hour. Stable keeping? Thirty years. Longer than you’ve been alive,” he said with a grin.
“Do you enjoy it?” she asked, curious.
“Working with horses? Best job in the world,” he said, before telling her his favorite horse stories with such genuine joy that he made her smile in spite of the horse poo on her brand-new trainers. She decided that if she was going to spend time picking up horse poo, she was going to be the best horse poo picker-upper that Friedrich had ever seen and do such an efficient job of it that Friedrich would write her a reference too. In fact, she decided she was going to get one from as many of the Olympic staff and volunteers she interacted with as possible. After cleanup, she had a shower, changed her uniform, and bought a mini body spray from the Village pharmacy to make sure she didn’t smell like a horse stable. She grimaced at the notification on her phone telling her that with each new purchase she was getting closer and closer to her credit card limit. But she didn’t have time to dwell or freak out about how long it would take her to get out of debt, because it was time for her next walkie-talkie call.
As it took around forty minutes to walk from one side of the Village to the other, athletes were allowed to book buggy rides to drive them to training sessions and competitions. Olivia had undertaken a two-hour golf buggy driving lesson during her training day. And, since the transport team was short on drivers, Olivia was called in as backup. There had been a surprise storm last night, and while it now looked like a perfect summer’s day, there were still a few big puddles scattered across the Village. So, Olivia was extra careful and drove a gnarly fifteen miles an hour to the athletes’ apartments to pick up her first two passengers. She’d made a mental list of questions and conversation topics in her quest to get to know more people. She asked a group of Congolese boxers about the opening ceremony and their journey to the Games. A pair of Chilean swimmers told her about the best places they’d gone open-water swimming. And she learned the Swedish words for “hello” (hall?), “thank you” (tack), and “it’s too hot” (det ?r f?r varmt) from two archers on their way back from the gym.
After an hour, Olivia had driven around the Village and studied her map well enough to stop needing the buggy app to give her directions. And, to her surprise, she was really enjoying buggy patrol. Her new role allowed her to drive around to almost every part of the Village and meet so many interesting people that she’d forgotten this wasn’t the summer she’d planned for. But then things went downhill. Literally.
On her way back to the Hub she took a right turn and found herself hurtling down a particularly long and steep slope. She reflexively put her foot down on the brakes, but they didn’t respond. She pressed down harder to no avail. She shouted, “Look out!” to a group of Bolivian divers, who ran away before she could accidentally commit vehicular manslaughter. But the buggy just kept on rolling. She thought about putting her leg out to stop it, but it would be so inconvenient to break her leg. Would her travel insurance cover it? Would she need to pay for the plaster and cast? How much would it cost to go to the hospital in a foreign country? She couldn’t afford to spend the last of her credit card on a trip to the hospital. So, she lifted her foot, made one last attempt at pressing down on the brakes, and then let the buggy decide her fate. This time the brakes did respond, but they responded at the exact moment she rolled into a wet ditch at the bottom of the slope. She came to a sharp stop, and a whole bucket’s worth of mud flew up from the ground and splattered all over her, soaking her uniform with a thick layer of dirt.
Olivia closed her eyes and willed every single one of Aditi’s inspirational quotes to come and give her strength. She wanted to drive back to the Hub to make her second uniform change of the day. But before she could, her Village phone flashed with a new message, forcing her to shake herself off and move on. Passenger #137 had booked a buggy ride.
So, instead of driving straight back to the office, she shook herself off and drove to her next pickup. There were quite a few athletes lined up outside the canteen, so after a few minutes of waiting to be found, Olivia decided to call out the number on her screen.
“Number one three seven,” she said, then realized that nobody was going to hear her if she used her inside voice.
“Number one three seven!” she said again, this time a little bit louder, trying to channel the energy of a market-stall seller. A few athletes glanced over at her mud-splattered buggy, and at least three people actively avoided making eye contact with her after seeing the splotchy brown stains on her shirt. But nobody walked toward her. So she shouted to try and find the athlete who had booked her.
“Number One! Three! Seven!” she called out, noticing the way a few people looked over like there was something wrong with her. But she didn’t have time to be self-conscious; she had a graduate job to secure by becoming the best volunteer in the Village, after all.
“Number one three seven? That’s me,” said a voice she recognized.
There was a whole crowd of athletes from different countries lined up outside the canteen, but one towered above the crowd: Zeke Moyo. He looked at her mud-soaked buggy, then at the stain on her shirt, and opened his mouth as if to make a joke of the situation. But instead, he locked eyes with her. The contact sent a shiver down her spine. Then he shook his head and visibly held in his laughter. She tried her best to remind herself of all her reasons to dislike him. The green-juice-stained suit, his borderline arrogant banter, and the fact that he probably spent his spare time hanging around with Lars Lindberg. But as he strode toward her with his broad shoulders, perfectly formed face, and amused smile, she realized that Aditi was right. When it came to Zeke, Olivia was walking a very thin line.