Now it’s Margie’s turn to match Aiden’s befuddled look, but it’s the latter who says, “You don’t? That’s something you’ll need to fix.”
I feel my whole body tense up but try to sound confident as I answer, “I would rather not.”
I’m probably starting to sound like I’m on the run from the law or something. But is it really so ridiculous? I guess at a company that relies on the internet and social media—and where my entire job so far has been using social media—the answer is yes. I thought I got this role because of my graphic design abilities and other work at my school newspaper, though, and replying to comments and clicking Like has been easy enough that I’ve rolled with it.
Becoming an online personality was never part of the plan. Then again, neither was appearing on camera.
Margie raises an eyebrow and I fear I’ve completely blown it. I’m surprised when Benny cuts in. “I’m on all the, er, apps and sites, and I’m fine with people following me. And Reese and I hang out, so I can, you know, Insta-post with her or whatever if that’ll make anyone feel better.”
Margie and Aiden exchange a long look. Meanwhile, I’mstaring at Benny with my jaw slightly dropped. I wasn’t expecting this kind of assist from him. And to say we “hang out” is a little generous for one lunch that will not be happening again. But I suppose I can appreciate the intent.
“All right,” Margie finally says with a long-suffering sigh. “Anything else?”
Benny meets my eyes and I see the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Sure, I’m grateful to him for backing me up, but why do I feel like there are going to be strings attached to his help?
The flicker of competitiveness ignites again within me and I press my lips together. If he thinks he has something over me for this or that I’m gonna go all soft after one nice gesture on his part, he’s gotten me wrong.
“I think that covers it,” I say.
Close to an hour later, my worries are more about whether this meeting will end before nightfall. Aiden appears to have done some brainstorming over the weekend and came back chock-full of ideas forAmateur Hour.He’s all emphatic hand movements and white-blond hair standing on end.
Margie, meanwhile, calmly sips her coffee in the chair beside his. Every so often, she pulls out her phone to type something. Whether it’s business-related or her texting someone “SOS get me out of this office,” I couldn’t say. I would be doing the latter if I had any seniority.
My boss seems to reach a limit, though, when Aiden startstalking about having Benny and me sub for the fishmongers in Pike Place Market for a day.
“Let’s perhaps table some of the creative discussions for now and get down to logistics,” Margie cuts in, not a moment too soon.
The two superiors go on to explain where we’ll go from here, getting paperwork drawn up for us and so on. It all seems to be happening quickly, with plans to film a second video this week getting tossed around. Margie and I split off from the guys before long and head back to marketing, and I try not to feel residual discomfort over my conditions, however small they are.
I get back to the usual grind for the rest of the day, but with a couple of fun extra tasks like picking out an apron online to order. Because, as Margie puts it, “as admirably as you pull off the burlap sack, you shouldn’t do it long term.” Each of the Friends has a signature apron or two that regular viewers come to recognize. But I never thought about how much pressure there would be to pick one out for myself.
Of course, some of the pressure I feel is only because Benny’s plain off-white one looks so maddeningly good on him and there’s this totally nonsensical voice in my head saying that I have to look better.
Ultimately, I decide on a soft-pink apron that the reviews describe as lightweight and comfy, and Margie gives me her company card to pay for it. And because Seattle is a magical place, it will arrive in time for our next video.
By the end of the day, I’m tuckered out and ready to crawl home for an ill-advised but hard-to-pass-up evening nap. I’m pulling my bag onto my shoulder and about to turn the corner when I nearly run smack into Benny.
“Hey,” he says with a laugh, grabbing my shoulders to steady me as I stumble. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Just thought I’d see if you wanted to walk with me, since we’re neighbors. But not next-door neighbors, because you don’t make noise.”
I shuffle awkwardly out of his grip and start heading down the hallway, nodding for him to join me. “Let’s go, Eggs Benedict.”
As we retrace my morning route—down the elevator, out the doors, and through the maze of busy sidewalks—it feels weird not to be making the journey alone. Benny and I fall into step down the block, walking in silence for a few moments before he glances at me. “So…that was something today, huh?”
I let out a laugh that sounds a bit deranged. “What, you don’t become an internet sensation every Monday?”
“Listen,” he says after a nervous pause, “I mean, I don’t wanna pry, and by all means you can tell me to mind my own business, but since wearekinda together in this…are you really okay with doing a series?”
I tense at the question. “Yes, definitely. Why do you ask?”
Benny looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I dunno, the social media thing? Not wanting to watch your videos orcomments or whatever? You just seemed kinda nervous about it all.”
Shit.Boy’s got my number. But I don’t want him to know it. On the one hand, it’s kind of sweet that he’s checking in with me, making sure I’m okay with everything. But on the other hand, I feel defensive. He doesn’t know me, doesn’t have any right to what’s going on in my head. And I don’t knowhimenough to trust that he won’t use any of my weaknesses against me. I consider how best I can put off his questions without giving anything away.
“I’m a very private person,” I start carefully. “I love Friends of Flavor more than, like, anything. But I didn’t come here with any intention of becoming one of the Friends. I’m much happier behind a screen, keeping my head down, doing the less glamorous, more anonymous work it takes to keep the operation going.”
“So you’re saying you’re more comfortable being on the same side as the thousands of people hiding behind their usernames, posting and commenting and tweeting their opinions about us,” he says with a hint of a smirk.Excuse me?
“No,” I protest. “I’ve always been a viewer, but never a commenter. I’m not even on social media.”
