Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Knowing what I wanted was going to be hard; I’d spent my whole life trying to ignore it. But advocating for myself was going to be even harder. People had gotten used to pushing me in whatever direction suited them. Especially Cody.
The ride back to Berkeley was like a root canal without Novocain.
He was still angry I had even thought about making a life decision without him.
Plus, our friends had had a great time ruining Black Friday for everyone else and he was suffering from major FOMO.
It was shocking how much our relationship had changed.
When it started, we were perfect companions; on picket lines, in marches, in the bedroom.
But had it really been that perfect? Or had I just made my needs secondary to his?
It’s easy to keep the peace when one person stays silent.
When we arrived in Berkeley, I requested a timeout. But Cody didn’t really get the concept of a “break.” Evidence A, these texts from him:
Hey! I know we’re on a break, but good news. We got the jobs!
What jobs?
Didn’t I tell you? I applied for us to work for SEIU when we graduate. In Chicago. What do you think about these apartments?
https:// hotpads. com/ chicago- il/ apartments- for-rent
Unbelievable. As soon as I broke free from my parents, my boyfriend took the reins. He literally got me a job without my knowledge. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had adopted us a rescue dog. This had gone way too far.
So I started googling summer jobs, anywhere but Chicago, which got me thinking.
.. why not really get a job? Like, now ?
What was college doing for me, anyway? Preparing me for the law school I didn’t want to go to?
Why not work for an NGO, preferably in another country?
I’d like to see Cody and my family try to rule me from halfway across the world.
I made a list of job postings that were sufficiently far away.
Then I drank the half empty bottle of J?germeister in my fridge, uploaded my resume to a few sites, and clicked Submit.
I knew it was crazy. As a not-yet-graduate, I didn’t think I was qualified for any of them.
Not unless one of these organizations desperately needed someone whose longest-held job was “dog walker” and whose greatest skill was “can handle large breeds.” But I needed to do something , anything, that made me feel like I was the one in charge of my life. Even if it was only symbolic.
* * *
Much to my surprise, it wasn’t just symbolic.
I actually got an interview! It was with a nonprofit called Justice Alliance.
Maybe they were impressed by my chutzpah?
I was terrified—and ecstatic. Justice Alliance was one of the coolest and most influential nonprofits on the West Coast. They had a slew of environmental and social justice campaigns, led by executive director Suzanne Lyon, who was legendary in Bay Area activist circles for her extraordinary ability to bring in funding, her unusual beauty, and her predilection for making CEOs cry.
There was a project-based position open in the ecotourism division, which supported their organic and fair trade coffee campaign.
This was a worthy cause that had a real-world impact.
And importantly, the position was in Costa Rica, which was thirty-five thousand miles away.
My interview was at eight-thirty a.m. They seemed very keen to meet, which was inexplicable to me given my paltry work experience.
I waited inside the surprisingly chic lobby sipping a complimentary cup of coffee.
I tried to identify the tasting notes. Were those undertones of ash, paint thinner, and ennui?
As I swished it around my palate, an intern with an undershave called my name.
I followed her to a corner office, staring at the geometric pattern on the back of her head, realizing how basic I was.
Unremarkable brown hair, unremarkable brown eyes, olive skin, and only two piercings in my ears—one per lobe.
I was definitely not cool enough to work here.
The door to the office swung open and I was face-to-face with Suzanne Lyon.
I was taken aback. I knew she was the executive director.
I just didn’t know I was going to be interviewed by the executive director .
She had persimmon-red hair, leaf-green eyes, and limbs fit for a giantess. She was striking. She was scary.
“Let’s get straight to business.” She was hovering in front of her desk in a white shirt and light linen pants, simultaneously answering texts on two different cell phones.
It was hard to imagine her not getting down to business.
“We need a project-based organizer for one of our Truth Trips. How much do you know about them? Or how our organization works?”
I bit my lip. “I’d love to hear how you describe it.”
She launched into a practiced spiel. “Justice Alliance has two main wings. One is Organizing, which runs our environmental and social justice campaigns. The other is Ecotourism, which funds Organizing. The eco-tours are crucial for us: people pay big bucks to feel like they’re doing something important. ”
Huh—maybe that explained Tesla’s success. Surely no one thought they were good cars.
“The Truth Trips are learning vacations for socially conscious travelers,” she continued.
“Currently we’re putting together a trip to Costa Rica.
The travelers will learn about organic, fair trade coffee, and hopefully have a good time doing so.
” I tried to imagine my parents on one of these trips. I failed.
“But first they learn why commodity coffee is problematic,” she said. “Commodity prices are determined by supply and demand, with no thought to labor or the environment.”
I took the opportunity to use progressive buzzwords. “It’s extractive capitalism.”
“Exactly. Then we teach them about direct trade, which is basically a marketing label.” That’s what I told Cody!
“That’s why regulation is crucial,” she said. “It ensures that the land isn’t destroyed, that laborers are paid a living wage and are not exposed to dangerous chemicals.”
I glanced down at my nail polish. What were those chemicals doing to the environment? I hid them in my lap.
“Which fair trade organizations do you work with?” I asked. “All of them?”
“Mostly. Our preferred partner is Ethical Coffee International. They focus on both environmental and social regulations, not just a single issue.”
Ooh! I knew that one! “I love their coffee-beans-on-the-scale-of-justice symbol. So impactful.”
She raised an eyebrow, not impressed. “A pretty picture isn’t why they are our preferred partner.”
“Of course not,” I backtracked. “This all sounds very comprehensive.”
“It is,” she said. “We want the travelers to come away with the understanding that what you buy has real consequences for real people. Fair trade and organic networks have pulled a lot of farmers out of poverty. And we want people to not just know that theoretically, but to feel it. Because people learn with their hearts, Dee, not their minds.”
Wow, if she was inspiring in a job interview, what was she like on a picket line?
“So here’s what we’re looking for in a candidate. Someone who is independent, self-motivated, and speaks excellent Spanish.”
That’s me. Independent. Or... independiente .
“You’d be responsible for setting up every aspect of the first Costa Rican Truth Trip.
Arranging homestays, finding social excursions, and most importantly, visiting coffee farms to determine which ones should be on the trip.
” This seemed like a bigger position than I had thought.
I couldn’t possibly be qualified for this.
Suzanne scanned my resume on her iPad. “I see you worked for the Living Wage League. Did you work on the Fine Hotels campaign?”
I flushed. I most certainly had not worked for them. But Cody had. “Can I see that for a second?” I asked. “Just want to make sure I sent you the most recent document.”
She gave me an odd look and handed me the iPad.
I scanned my resume. Except it wasn’t exactly my resume.
Cody must’ve embellished it to get us the jobs in Chicago!
I pinched my fingers together. Which was worse?
Admitting I had gotten drunk on J?germeister and hadn’t reviewed my resume before posting it?
Or telling her the truth: that my experience was thin?
“The Fine Hotels campaign was groundbreaking,” I said, handing back the iPad. “The energy on the picket lines was palpable.”
She didn’t seem to notice I hadn’t answered her directly. Or if she did, she wasn’t letting on. “And you managed a law office? For Aaron Feinstein?”
Cody!!! At least I had worked there. And manage , assist —were they really so different? “I have tremendous organizational skills.”
She put down the iPad. “You’ve done a lot for someone so young. When did you graduate from college? How old are you?”
I happen to know it’s illegal to ask someone their age in an interview, because when I “managed” Uncle Aaron’s law firm in the summers, I interviewed his assistant candidates.
He went through a new one every six months.
But how to tell the person you want to hire you that the question she’s just asked is illegal?
Or that you’re planning on dropping out of college?
“I take good care of my skin.” I pushed some hair behind my ears. “I have a great antiaging cream, something with AHA. I can email you the name of it later if you like.”
“That’s all right.” She looked at me with barely concealed surprise, causing her forehead to crinkle with lines. I guess my mom was right—it’s never too early to start taking care of your skin. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to call your references.”
“Right now?!”
“We’re in a time crunch. Unfortunately, a new hire dropped out last minute.” So that’s why they were so keen to meet me. Someone quit before they even started. Hello, red flag. Was it because of the shitty pay? Because Suzanne was a difficult boss? Or something worse?
Suzanne headed to the door, then paused, looking at the iPad. “So your direct supervisor at the Living Wage League was Sadie Weiss? I thought she organized for SEIU?”
Something twisted very slowly under my rib cage. My cousin emphatically did not work for the Living Wage League.
“Sadie is a multitasker.” I gave Suzanne my best smile, which really wasn’t any good. Plus, I was short of breath from stabbing pains in the general vicinity of my heart. “She consults for many progressive organizations.”
“Huh.” Suzanne gave me a queer look and left the room.
I quickly texted Sadie to ask her to cover for me.
Then I placed my hand just under my left breast. The pain was so acute I couldn’t breathe.
After five minutes I really started to sweat.
Who was Suzanne talking to? Was I going to get caught?
Was it illegal to lie on a resume? Could I go to jail ?
The searing pain flashed through my rib cage and I bent over. I had seen a doctor about this once in high school and had come away with this explanation: It’s your organs growing.
Your organs growing? my mom had asked when I told her in the car.
That’s what he said.
Unbelievable, Dee. Next time I’m going in with you. If you don’t want to feel like a baby, don’t act like one.
After that my mother had accompanied me into the room for each doctor’s visit, causing almost unbearable embarrassment. The worst was my first gynecological exam, done by my male pediatrician.
You’re fifteen now , he said. So we’re going to have a peek in there.
Can you tell if she’s had sex?
Mom!
Sometimes, he replied. The hymen can give you a lot of information.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Suzanne, gliding back into the room.
Interesting how? Like “you are a fraud” interesting, or...?
“Sadie really sang your praises.” She sat across from me. “Just one last question. How good is your Spanish?”
“Hablo muy bien.” Which was true, more or less. I definitely read and wrote academic Spanish. Would that hold up in the real world? No sabía.
“Great. If you take the position, you’ll be working with my colleague Matías Khalil. He works in the organizing wing, but he’d be lending you support. Too bad you couldn’t meet him today, but he’s in Ecuador.”
“Matías Khalil? The Matías Khalil? No-More-Capitalism-in-the-Age-of-AI Matías Khalil?”
“Yes.” Did she look slightly annoyed?
“God, he’s so brilliant. I loved his TED Talk.”
“Everyone does.” She was definitely annoyed. She uncrossed her slim legs and looked at her calendar. “The position begins immediately. You’ll be leaving for Costa Rica next week. Do you have any pressing commitments?”
Just breaking up with my boyfriend and dropping out of college. “Nope.”
She reached out her hand to shake. “Welcome aboard, comrade.”