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“Three years, every evening and weekend at two restaurants,” I respond, trying not to sound like I’m bragging.
“Cool. About tonight. I don’t mind taking care of it. Lord knows I’ve set up enough of these parties.” We head back to the dining room and look at the leftover food. “Do we leave this for all of the lazy asses still in bed?”
Glancing at my Fitbit, I see that it is only eleven am, and knowing all of the tasks I need to get done, I decide to throw caution to the wind. “Fuck it! They can clean it up. I’ll leave a note on the table.”
“Cool. Anything I can help with?” Mindy asks, and I am suddenly reminded of another set of Mindys. It seems that my Mindy has a lot in common with them, mainly having the desire to be needed, to make people happy, and do things for them. I kinda want to tell her to fuck off, that all she is doing is making herself a mat for everyone to walk all over. People like her never get anywhere in life. But I keep my snarky comments to myself and think about if I want to take her overture as a friendly one.
“It’s nothing glamorous. Just emptying my car out, unpacking, and then making sure I have everything I need for classes.” I tell her, kind of hoping that she decides it is boring and beneath her. But that hope is dashed as her eyes brighten and she stands straighter.
“You’re going to think I’m weird but organizing...that’s my jam.” Her cheeks flush and I can tell that she’s not lying.
“More power to you. My ADHD makes organizing a nightmare.”
