Invited

Chapter 13

( Full-time Job )

Waking up Monday morning, I feel strangely anxious. Then it comes to me; this morning, I need to call the office manager at Mr. Underwood's office. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be a big deal. I've called for job interviews before, without any luck, but I wasn't anxious or nervous making those calls. This call is different, though. Billy's father recommended me, plus Billy is depending on me, and that adds pressure because I don't want to let anybody down.

By nine o'clock, I've done my bathroom routine; I'm dressed and joining Mom in the kitchen. She smiles, "Good morning, dear. Can I fix you some breakfast?"

"No thanks, Mom. I'll get a mug of coffee, and then I need to call about the full-time job I told you and Dad about."

She hands me a coffee mug, "Best of luck with that, Gary. Any company will be fortunate to have you working for them."

Uh-huh.

I put a K-cup in the coffee maker; then, testing Mom's feelings about me getting an apartment, I casually say, "I want to get started with college studies too. If I get the job, I'll sign up for a couple of night courses at the Community College. To make that work, though, I'll need to rent a small apartment near the college."

Mom says, "Oh, c'mon, Gary. The full-time job is so you can buy a car and pay for insurance, not rent an apartment. A car of your own is what you've been saving for, right?"

Putting three sugars in my coffee, I nod, "Yes, I'll buy a car, but not for driving from here to college. That would be a nightmare because of the traffic in the city. The commute is so horrendous that Billy Underwood thinks he might drop out of college."

That's a lie, but it strengthens my case for the apartment. Mom says, "I'm sure Billy is exaggerating his situation. Anyway, you're too young to be out on your own."

Drinking some coffee, I go, "I'm too young; seriously, Mom? I'll be an eighteen-year-old adult in a couple of weeks. Anyway, it's not as if I'd be out on my own. Assuming Billy and I are, um, compatible and can get along as roommates, we'll share the apartment. Plus, even when I'm going to college full time, I'm not moving out of the house per se. The days I don't have classes, I'll be living here with you and Dad."

That's another lie, but I can see Mom relaxing a little after hearing her ten-year-old son isn't planning on moving out entirely. She says, "Well, convincing your father that you need an apartment won't be easy."

Still keeping it casual, I say, "He doesn't know that Billy will share the expenses."

She sighs and mumbles, "We'll see, Gary. Are you sure you don't want me to cook you a bacon and egg sandwich?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Okay, I laid the groundwork for an apartment again, but there's apparently much more convincing needed, and I've only got four days to do it before this home-alone weekend. We need to establish a reason for Billy staying with me this weekend, which is why I threw out the idea of testing that we're compatible as roommates.

Well, sigh, I need to make this important call. Taking my mug of coffee to my room, I get the slip of paper Billy gave me with the office manager's name, phone number, and phone extension. The office manager's name is Randy Mullins; Mr. Mullins. Good, that's an easy name to pronounce.

First, though, as Billy suggested, I Google how to ask for a job interview. I find that there are many suggestions on how to do that, either by letter/resume or telephone call. I'm to introduce myself, mention Mr. Underwood's referral, outline my qualifications, and show a sincere interest in the position, doing it all enthusiastically. Google suggests that coming right out and asking for an interview can be effective, although it can be risky too.

Risky? That doesn't sound good.

Anyway, after securing an in-person interview, Google offers many pointers on presenting yourself during the interview. I'll study those pointers if I get the interview.

After spending fifteen minutes practicing what I'm going to say, I take a deep breath, dial Randy Mullins's number, and get a robot message telling me to dial my party's extension if I know it. I do that, and a lady says, "Good morning. You've reached Serenity Jones. How can I help you?"

Serenity Jones? I look at the slip of paper, but there's no mention of her. "Um, I was calling for Mr. Mullins, um..."

"I'm Mr. Mullin's administrative assistant. Randy is out of the office today. How can I help you?"

Why doesn't any 'effing thing ever go easy for me?

Making a face, I figure what the fuck? Then started in with my memorized spiel, but I didn't get far. As soon as I mentioned my name, she interrupted, saying, "Oh, hi, Gary. I have a note here from Randy that you'd be calling. Can you come in at, um, eleven o'clock?"

Huh? I'm like, "Do you mean today?"

She sounds nice, "Yes, today at eleven. Our office address is 2018 Broad Street. I'll give you an overview of what Randy has in mind for this position, so you'll be able to decide if you're interested. If you are, you'll need your social security card and driver's license, and we'll pretend that this is optional; although it's not, you'll need your vac card too. You have been vaccinated, correct?"

I go, "Yes, Sir, er, Ma'am. Plus the booster shot."

I think she chuckled, then she said, "Wonderful! Tell the person at the front desk you've got an appointment with Serenity on the third floor, and I'll see you at eleven o'clock. Thanks for calling early, Gary. Perhaps we can get this taken care of today."

Today? I say, "Yes, eleven o'clock, and thank you."

Omigod, that was easy. Whew, though, I was nervous. Yeah, but it almost sounded as if I'd already gotten the job without needing to interview with the office manager. This position probably isn't significant enough for Randy to bother with it. Talking with Serenity Jones is fine by me, as she seems lovely.

What should I wear, though? Billy said to wear a suit. Looking in my closet, I see the one suit I own still in a dry cleaner's plastic bag from when it was last cleaned about two years ago. Taking the plastic bag off, I try on the suit jacket. Huh! It fits okay.

Billy wants us to get haircuts today, so I'll look sharp for the interview. Well, that can't happen before my interview. I don't have the time to do that because I need a shower, and I'm not sure how long it will take to get to the office in Philly.

Going into the bathroom, I realize I've still got the suit jacket on over my pajama top. Goddammit, I need to calm down!

Taking off the jacket, I drop it back in my bedroom, then shower, brush my teeth again, gargle with Mom's ghastly mouthwash, and comb my hair that's grown enough that all the hairs lie flat on my head now, but the bangs are too long to be combed up in front. Serenity won't care about that, though. Hmm, should I call her Serenity? It's probably best if I don't call her anything.

Getting dressed, the suit pants fit okay too, but the one dress shirt I own is totally wrinkled at the sleeves. So what? With a suit coat on, nobody will see the sleeves. My dress loafers feel too tight, but nothing's perfect. Now for a tie. Charcoal grey suit, white shirt, maroon tie with grey stripes. Damn, I look like a nerd.

Downstairs, Mom's startled seeing me all dressed up like this. "Gary! Ah, you look handsome, dear."

I'm like, "Thanks. Mom. When did I last wear this suit?"

"I think it was for that girl's funeral during your junior year. The girl in your class who passed away."

Nodding, I mumble, "Oh, yeah, that's right. I was one of only two kids out of fifty who wore a suit."

Mom has nothing to say to that because she's who insisted a suit was proper attire for a funeral, and perhaps thirty years ago, it was. Without mentioning that, I ask, "What bus do I take to the center city?"

She reminds me I take a bus to 69th Street first and then the train into Philly's Broad Street Station. Then she says, "You're not going out wearing only a suit coat, are you, Gary? It's still March and only thirty-something degrees outside.

Rolling my eyes, I put my puffer coat on over my suit coat, muttering, "I feel stupid."

As I'm going out the front door, Mom smiles, saying, "Good luck, honey!"

Jesus, honey? I'm almost eighteen!

Halfway to the bus stop, I realized I had never Googled tips about interviewing for a job. Plus, I feel as though I'm dressed like a seventeen-year-old banker. Screw all that, though; I need to concentrate on being energetic and confident. Yeah, sure.

The bus stop is only a couple of blocks from the house, and it arrived less than five minutes after I got there. At the 69th Street terminal, I make a quick connecting train into the city and get there at ten-thirty. It only took me twenty minutes to get here!

Hell, driving in heavy city traffic would take at least twice as long. Yes, but I did have perfect connections from bus to train, and I can't always expect that. If I get the job, I'll give myself thirty minutes for the commute.

Too bad there's no public transportation to the Community College that is located on Philly's outskirts. From Springfield, where we live, we need to drive through the city to get to the College.

There's an annoyingly strong wind blowing this thirty-something-degree cold air, but the office is only three blocks down Broad Street; another very convenient situation.

Many people are on the sidewalks, some still wearing masks, but most are not. I've got a mask in my pocket, just in case. During my slow ten-minute walk on Broad Street, I see only two men wearing a suit, and they had overcoats on too. Both men were middle-aged, probably lawyers or insurance salesmen.

Optimistically, I'm looking around for a place where I could have lunch if get the job. I end up disappointed that there isn't any place that jumps out at me--no familiar fast-food joints, in other words.

I kill some time standing outside the building, then go inside at five of eleven and see the employees inside are wearing masks, so I put mine on and tell the two people at the front desk why I'm there. They check a computer, give me a badge on a lanyard to wear around my neck, then a nice-looking, albeit overly-made-up lady tells me, "Third floor, honey."

Honey again?

Mumbling, "Thank you," I take off my puffer coat and carry it as I walk over to the bank of elevators and wait for the next one. Next to me is an exceptionally cute redheaded young guy without a mask. He's wearing a long-sleeve blue shirt with a dark blue tie, the tie's knot pulled away from his neck. He's an inch taller than me, holding a cardboard container with four Starbucks take-out coffees.

I feel him staring at me as I watch the elevator arrow above the doors move past the third floor, then the second floor, and land on the first floor with a slight bump. The redhead says, "Let me guess, dude. You're interviewing for a job, right? That's why you've got the suit on."

The elevator doors open, and two women leave the elevator, both in a hurry to get somewhere else. I look at the redhead and say, "Yes, your guess is correct."

We get on the elevator, and he says, "Hit button six for me." I do that, then hit the button for the third floor.

Red says, "You don't look old enough to be applying for a job."

I shrug, and he adds, "If you get it, we can have lunch together. I'll show you the good spots. There's a Chinese restaurant I like and a great food truck on Maple."

I'm watching the floor indicator light move to the second floor, muttering, "Okay," and he says, "You're applying at the packaging company on the third floor. Boxes and paper products, right?"

Huh, I never thought to ask what the company does. Looking at him, I give him my best imitation of Billy's smile and say, "What's your name?"

He says, "Mark, what's yours?"

I tell him, and he goes, "Here's your floor, Gary. I'll look for you at noon in the lobby. Hope you get the job."

Getting off the elevator, I nod, "Sure, thanks. It was nice to meet you."

Wow, he gave me goosebumps. It'll be fun eating lunch with him, assuming he was serious.

The reception area for United Paper Products Inc. is in front of me, and a smiling middle-aged woman sitting at a large desk, wearing large glasses asks, "Can I help you?"

Glancing at the big clock above the reception desk, I see two minutes to eleven. I'm right on time telling her about my appointment with Serenity Jones, and she says, "I'll let her know you're here. Have a seat, and you can take the mask off if you'd like."

The receptionist picks up a phone, and I sit in a plush armchair, my coat in my lap as I shove the mask into my suitcoat's pocket. I didn't expect such an impressive ritzy company. They occupy the entire third floor.

A slim, attractive twenty-something-year-old African American woman walks around from the left two minutes later. She looks at me, then past me. I'm the only one here, though. So, with a grin on her face, she asks, "Gary?" as if she doubts I could be the applicant.

Standing, I nod, "Yes, I'm Gary Wallingford."

Her eyebrows go up as she holds her hand out. As I shake hands, she grins harder, saying, "Yes, of course, you are. I'm Serenity Jones. It's nice to meet you, Gary. Please, let's go to my office where we can have a nice chat."

Chat?

Walking beside her, I try sounding enthusiastic, saying, "I was very excited when you said we'd meet this morning."

We're walking past an ample open space with many desks, computers, and people busily doing, um, whatever they do. Serenity asks, "How was the commute from the suburbs?"

I go, "No problem! I took a bus to 69th Street and a quick train ride into town. Altogether, a twenty-minute trip, um, commute."

We turn a corner at a row of offices, some with the doors open, and I can see the offices have big windows looking out at the city. Nice view! There is a wide corridor with cubicles opposite each office, one of which is Serenity's so-called office. It's open in front with five-foot partitions on the sides and back. She smiles, saying, "Here we are," and holds her arm out, inviting me to go inside first.

Following me in, she says, "You can hang your coat on the coat rack and have a seat, Gary."

I do that and take a seat in one of the two guest chairs in front of her desk. It's a padded chair with wooden arms like you see in a dentist's waiting room. She answers her ringing phone, laughing and saying, "That's funny, Judy, but I can't talk now. I've got a," She grins at me, "A hot prospect to interview for Randy's screw-the-UPS project. Yes, I know. I'll see you at lunch."

Hanging up, she says, "Well, Gary, first," and her phone rings again. She says, "Sorry," and answers it the same way she responded to my call earlier this morning.

Serenity is much more formal during this conversation as she swivels her chair, turning her back to me. It's a two-minute conversation that Serenity ends the call, sounding like a hard-ass, saying, "Randy is out of the office, as I've already told you twice, and, no, he is not giving you credit for that. I'll tell him you called."

Turning back around, she smiles and hangs up the phone, saying, "So, Gary, what kind of work are you presently doing?"

I describe the two jobs I've had since graduating high school, then tell her I will be taking college courses at night. Nodding, she asks, "How is it that you know Bill Underwood?" and so on for five minutes or so.

Then she says, "Well, I'll ask you to fill out an application now. And, hah-ha, yes, I know we're doing this ass-backward, but it sometimes happens with special referral recommendations like Bill Underwood's for you." With another chuckle, she adds, "Bill plays golf with Randy, so. Well, never mind that," and she hands me a four-page employment application, adding, "It's just a formality."

She stands, so I do too. "Come with me, Gary, and I'll let you fill this out in a conference room, okay?"

Nodding, I follow her with the application in my hand. We walk to one of the doors along the outer wall of the building. It's a conference room with a long table around which are twelve armchairs. Large windows look out at the city. She grabs a stick pen from a jar of them and, handing it to me, says, "Sit anywhere you want, and when you're done, come on back to my office."

Her office is actually a cubicle, but I don't mention that.

When Serenity leaves, I plop down on a chair across from the windows. Glancing at the view for a minute, then I look at the four-page application and see it's similar to the one I filled out for my job at Weis Market. Yeah, well, why did I assume it would be different?

It's tedious filling out repetitive information, but I do my best. Hmm, listing my qualifications for the position is weird since I don't know precisely what the 'effing position is yet, but I put down the usual stuff about being conscientious, reliable, hard-working, and blah, blah, blah.

It takes maybe twenty minutes to complete the four pages; then, I gawk at the view again, suddenly getting that too-familiar feeling of being in over my head here. I say that because much of the information they're looking for doesn't relate to me. I leave a lot of blank spaces asking for experience, making me realize I'm not qualified for much of anything.

Then I started worrying that this interview was simply a courtesy one because Mr. Underwood recommended me, and he's a golfing buddy of Randy's. Therefore, this is a waste of Serenity's and my time. I carry the bogus application back to Serenity's cubicle with no confidence that this will work out well for me.

Standing at the front of the cubicle, I see she's talking on the phone again. Looking up, she smiles and waves her hand that I should take a seat. I said she was attractive when actually she's a gorgeous young woman. I can't help but smile back at her the same way I can't help smiling back at Billy's smiles.

Sitting with the application in my sweaty hand, she holds out her hand for it. I give it to her as she's saying into the phone, "Perfect, Mark, I'll tell Randy when he's in the office tomorrow."

Hanging up the phone, she says, "That was fast, Gary," and then she glances at the top sheet where I've listed all my particulars.

Self-conscious, I say, "There were several spaces on the other three pages that, um, didn't apply to me for, ah, um, various reasons."

Looking up with a quizzical expression on her face, she goes, "You're not eighteen?"

I stupidly mumble, "I know," and she looks at the application again, her face relaxing as she says, "But you will be eighteen in a couple of weeks." I again mumble, "Yes, I know."

Goddammit, why do I say shit like that? Then, I unnecessarily add, "I'll be eighteen this month," as she can plainly see from the application.

She chuckles at that, then grins and says, "Eighteen in the nick of time, huh? Randy's has set sometime this month as the kick-off point for this position."

Quickly peruses the rest of what I've filled out on the four pages, then, pushing the application to the side, she says, "This is fine. Human Resources can get all the info they need from this. No problem."

Folding her hands on the desk, "Okay, Gary, this is a brand-new position and not a well-defined one yet. Initially, you'd have an office boy designation, but we'll try to come up with something more modern. She chuckles, adding, "In days of old, I'd be a secretary instead of administrative assistance."

I nod enthusiastically, and she says, "Anyway, who cares what the job title is, right?"

Nodding again, I go, "Oh, sure. Office boy is fine, um..."

She grins again, then says, "Uh-huh, sure. Ah, so Randy is looking for a flexible individual who can work well with others because you'll be assigned various areas of need and, therefore, work under different supervisors. It could be in the mailroom one day, then the stockroom, or errand boy another day, and you'll be a carrier driving between offices. There are many different and specific types of containers our clients are looking for. Boxes, in other words. The sooner the prototypes our creative department come up with are in the hands of the customer, the better."

She explains how a prototype box for a client's specific need is designed in this office, maybe two or three of them to offer a choice. The prototype box or boxes is sent to the outlying offices from which the salespeople make their presentation to the clients, etc.

I'm trying to appear interested as she says, "We've been using UPS as the delivery method, which in many cases delays the process. The paper products business is competitive, and the quicker the product gets to the salesman, the better chance they have of closing a sale."

I listen to the rest of a ten-minute explanation of the job that includes grunt work at times unloading or loading boxes from or to delivery trucks on the ground floor and other duties. As Serenity put it, "This position is of a non-prestigious nature."

Nodding again because none of the jobs she mentioned I'd mind doing.

Serenity says, "I'm not trying to dissuade you from taking the job, Gary. I just want to be totally transparent about it. What do you think about what I've told you?"

I say, "It sounds great to me. I mean, how prestigious are my previous jobs been? Collecting the shopping carts from the parking lot or being a gofer on a lawn-cutting crew? They were my last two jobs."

She chuckles and adds, "Okay, I'll take it that you have no objections. I need to mention, though, that some of our offices are in places like Pittsburg, meaning far enough away where you'd need to stay overnight. Would that be a problem? It would only happen once a month or so."

Shaking my head, "No problem." She says, "Wonderful, and you look very nice in your suit and tie, but you'll want to dress casually on the job. Sneakers, jeans, whatever you're comfortable wearing."

I'm like, "Oh, good. Thanks."

Holding a finger up, she says, "Let me double-check something," and she hits two buttons on her phone, then says, "Hi Wynonna, this is Serenity. What was the final remuneration designation for Randy's opening?" She looks at her computer, adding, "Yes, the brand-new position." Nodding, she says, "Thanks," and hangs up.

"Gary, to be clear, initially, this will be a ninety-day trial period, but all new hires are on a ninety-day trial basis, not just you, okay?"

I nod, and she says, "I'm offering you the job with $500 as a weekly starting salary. After three months, we'll bump it up a bit, assuming it's working out for all of us. What do you say?"

Shocked at how easy this has been, I say, "Thank you. That's wonderful; I'd love to work here."

Getting up, she smiles and says, "Good! You're exactly what we're looking for. I'll introduce you to the supervisor you'll be reporting to for initial assignments each morning."

Stunned, I follow her out of her cubicle, hardly believing this: five hundred dollars a week! Of course, minus deductions for taxes and whatever. Still, though, this is hot shit!

We walk to the very end of the row of offices and enter a big busy room. There is an office at the far end with a glass door. This is obviously the mailroom/stockroom as two women are busily processing snail mail in surprising amounts. An older man and a black guy in his twenties are boxing up, um, other boxes. Yeah, they're putting boxes into boxes.

We walk down the middle aisle separating these two operations, stopping at the office where a large woman with eyeglasses hanging on a chain around her neck is working on a computer. Serenity taps on the door and the large woman looks up, then motions for us to come in.

Inside the office, Serenity says, "Hi, Maggie, I've got good news for you. Meet Gary Wallingford, Randy's hire to help out with your operations here, plus he'll be a carrier between the outlining sales offices throughout the state. Gary, meet Maggie Dwyer."

Maggie has a pleasant smile as she stands, and we touch hands as a partial handshake with her saying, "My, my, what a nice-looking young man. Nice to meet you, Gary. Ah, and thanks, Serenity. Randy and I have discussed this a lot, and I'm happy he finally is getting around to implementing my proposal."

Oh, so this job was her idea.

Serenity says, "Gary's a March hire. He'll start before the end of the month. Randy doesn't want it on the budget until we let someone go."

Maggie goes, "Oh, who's that?"

Serenity hedges, "I'm not sure. One of the drivers, I think. Anyway, someday this month, Gary will be here at eight o'clock, ready for your instructions."

Maggie has a deep voice, "As usual, everything around here is up in the air. Someday this month, huh? And, I told Randy I need a full-time helper here, so I don't know how much time the kid will have to be Randy's carrier, or whatever he's calling it now."

Forcing a smile, Serenity says, "I'm sure something can be worked out."

Maggie rolls her eyes and says, "It better be, or some of these weird boxes won't be going out the same day the art and developing department wants them shipped. I'm always behind because..."

Serenity goes, "I'm sure Randy will be on top of it, Maggie."

Maggie makes a face, mumbling, "I guess there's a first time for everything."

Smiling, Serenity says, "Help is coming. Have a wonderful day," and we leave with Maggie repeating her mantra, "Wonderful day, huh? I guess there's a first time for that too."

Walking back to Serenity's cubicle, she tells me, "Maggie is very nice, Gary. It's just that she's conscientious about everything going, um, on time and running smoothly."

In her cubical, she calls someone on the phone. Two minutes later, a middle-aged woman appeared to take my license, social security card, and vaccination card to make copies. As she's doing that, Serenity pumps me up about what a great place this is to work and goes over the benefits package; then, she gives me material to take with me about the company that also describes the benefits in detail.

Fifty-five minutes after entering the building, I'm putting on my puffer coat waiting for an elevator. It comes, and I get in a crowded car going down. The car stops on the second floor, and some people get off. As the doors close, I hear, "Did you get the job, Gary?"

Turning around, I see the redheaded guy, Mark, smirking cutely at me.

As I nod, he moves up next to me, and I tell him, "Yeah, but I don't start until later this month."

The knot of Mark's tie is still pulled down a couple of inches, and I notice freckles across his nose. The elevator bumps on the first floor, and he puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "C'mon, we can have lunch together today at least. Okay?"

Shrugging, I mutter, "Sure, um, thanks."

He snickers, then mutter, "You're easy. This is gonna be fun."

His light red hair is combed with a part, but his bangs are so long that every thirty seconds, he needs to brush them out of his eyes and over to the side with his fingers. It's as if he is so used to doing it that it's an unconscious reflex action. His eyes are very blue and shiny, and he's a really cute guy. I can't help glancing over at him every few seconds.

At the reception desk, with another of his smirks, Mark, who is now wearing a bomber jacket, says to the man, "How they hanging, Felix?"

The man, Felix, makes a face and mumbles, "Same as always, Mark."

Mark snickers and takes his arm off my shoulders, then takes my lanyard over my head, saying, "You're supposed to turn in your visitor pass. You'll be issued a permanent one on your first workday."

Outside, he says, "Let's try the food truck, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, he goes, "It's this way." As we walk up the block, he walks so close to me that our bodies rub together with each step.

Grinning, looking at me, he goes, "Jesus, dude, you could be my little brother. When I saw you, I was like, no fucking way."

After months of Billy being touchy/feely with me, I'm oddly comfortable having this stranger bumping against me.

I mumble, "Your little brother? Are you saying you think we look alike?"

He snickers, "Duh, yeah, we definitely look alike. You've got blond hair but so do my sisters. I've got a few freckles, and you and my sisters don't, but we all still look similar enough to be related."

I say, "Well when you get right down to it, you actually are related to your sisters."

He snorts out a chuckle, "No shit, little brother."

I'd never have been able to ask this a few months ago, but I blatantly can ask it now. "Are you gay, Mark?"

Snickering again, he moves his arm to hug around the back of my neck, pulling my head against his shoulder, "Gay? No way, dude! Whatever gave you that idea?"

I'm enjoying his craziness and looks, so as we wait for a light to change to 'walk' to cross over to Maple Street, I go, "Oh, I don't know where that idea came from, just a random thought I had. So, um, you're into the little brother theme, huh? I am your size, maybe an inch shorter."

The walk sign shows on the traffic light, and we join about twenty people crossing over to Maple Street; Mark's arm remains around my neck as he says, "Yes, you've discovered my secret wish. I've always wanted a little brother so I could show him where to get the best street lunch in Philly. And, yes, we're almost the same size, but you're much younger than me. How old are you, anyway?"

Halfway down Maple, I see the food truck, and even though I think it's too cold to eat outside, there are a dozen people waiting in line to place their lunch orders. I say, "I'll be eighteen in a week. How old are you?"

More snickers from Mark, then he says, "I knew I'm much older. I'll be nineteen this month. When exactly is your birthday?"

Mumbling, "You're that much older, huh? When's your birthday?"

We get to the back of the line, his arm coming off my shoulders as he takes out his wallet. "My birthday is March 16th."

Grinning, I mutter, "Bullshit. Did you somehow see my application?"

He goes, "No way! Is your birthday the 16th too?"

I mutter, "I don't believe this. Do you know Serenity?"

He shrugs, "Serenity? Well, yeah, I've experienced calm, peaceful moments. What's that have to do with anything, little bro?"

It's very odd how he makes me feel like I've known him for years. I mutter, "Nothing, I guess. Is your birthday really the sixteenth?"

Taking his arm off my shoulders, he shows me his driver's license. I mumble, "Holy shit, what an unbelievable coincidence."

Snickering, he goes, "I showed you mine. Now, you show me yours," making it sound like he showed me his dick.

That's probably me interpreting it that way, not him. We keep moving closer to the food truck's open window as I show him my license. Shaking his head, he grins, "Wow! I just got goosebumps all over me. This is, um, fucking unreal." Then, snickering, he adds, "Maybe you really are my long-lost little brother, bro."

Putting my wallet in my back pocket, "This may be the weirdest coincidence ever!"

He goes, "C'mon, bro, this is amazing! I've still got goosebumps."

Grinning at him, I say, "Gay goosebumps," and he laughs, then goes, "I'm not gay! Stop saying that."

The two girls in front of us are about our age, and they're both sniffling with colds or the flu; maybe Covid! They both turn around, and the one with a prominent nose says, "We couldn't help overhearing you two, and we had to look. Omigod! You do look as if you could be brothers."

The other girl, who has a face like an owl, squarish and flat with a little pointy nose and big eyes, says, "Yeah, wicked cute brothers."

Mark says to the owl girl, "Would you like to go on a date sometime? With my little bro, I mean. I need to fix him up on dates because he's shy."

The girls giggle, then big nose says, "Yeah, we could double date." The man in the truck has a big ugly black beard. He yells, "Can I help you, ladies? What do you want to order?"

The girls turn back to the food truck; prominent nose orders a barbecue goat kabob platter, and owl-face orders lamb skewers. The food truck is labeled Karl's and Mini's Gourmet Barbecue. Most dishes come with rice and broccoli.

The girls take their plastic food dishes somewhere to eat as Mark orders barbecue brisket. I quickly read the menu on the side of the truck. Goat kabobs, king prawns, chicken wings, jerk chicken, pork ribs, and lamb kabobs; all barbecued.

That's as far as I get before the man in the truck says, "What'll you have, pal?" Shrugging, I order barbecue pork ribs because at least I've had that before. Barbecued goat, lamb, prongs? No thanks.

Mark says, "C'mon, bro," and I follow him half a block where there are three benches at a bus stop. We sit at one of the benches and eat our sticky-sweet lunches. They include two little packets of wet wipes, reminding me of when Billy and I are cleaning up using packets of Handiwipes in his SUV after messing around.

Mark keeps looking at me as we eat, asking, "Delicious, huh?"

He wants kudos for his food truck selection the way Billy always seeks kudos for his excellent messing around. I nod, "Yum, fabulous barbecued ribs. Great choice, Mark. The rice side dish is good too, but I need to eat it fast while it's still warm."

He goes, "Let me guess. You're a bit of a whiner, aren't you?

Frowning, because Billy unfairly accuses me of that too. I give him a look, and he pats my shoulder, "I'm just fucking with you, Gary."

I mutter, "I knew that. Your last name is Jones, right? I saw it on your driver's license that time."

He swallows and says, "Uh-huh, very observant. What's your last name?"

I tell him, and he nods, "Wallingford, huh? Interesting. That's a name originating in England. Wallingford In Berkshire, England. There's a Wallingford Castle. My surname is also English. English and Welsh meaning son of John."

Smirking, finishing the last of the rice, imitating Billy, I mumble, "You're pretty good at bullshit, ain'tcha?"

Shaking his head, he takes out his phone and Googles my last name, then shows me what Google has to say. He goes, "Surnames interest me. They're my hobby; I guess you could say. Always a conversation started, ya know?"

Gawking at his cell phone, reading about my surname, I mumble, "Jeez, I didn't know that's where my ancestors are from. Wallingford does sound English, though, now that you mention it. I'll be dammed. How about the surname, Underwood?"

Mark wipes his hands and mouth with the wet wipes and mumbles, "English too. It's of ancient Anglo-Saxon origin. Not surprisingly, many surnames originated from England. They, for a variety of reasons, religious ones mostly, were the first serious immigrants settling in this continent, previously American Indian lands, and that's a whole other discussion."

Finished our lunches, we walked to the train station together. He asks, "Do you have a hobby?"

Well, I'm not telling him it's idolizing Billy Underwood. It's easier to say, "Nah, not really."

He says, "Well, it'll be awesome eating lunch with you, Gary. I'll see you for lunch every day if you want. You know, when you start working sometime in March."

We bump fists, and he takes an elevated train to North Philly. I wait for the train to the 69th Street suburbs.

On the train, I decided I liked Mark, and I could hardly wait to drop that info about Billy's surname on him. He probably already knows it, though.

Thinking about today, it seems that Mr. Underwood's recommendation was all I needed to get hired. They are not taking a big gamble on me, though, as I'm on a ninety-day trial. Maggie, my supervisor, appears to have a negative attitude, which could be problematic. She's not mad at me, though, so I hope, as Serenity said, she's nice to work for.

Yes, Mark should be fun to have lunch with, and I've got in the back of my mind he might be gay and, therefore, a possible match for George. That's if Mark is gay, and I'm not sure he is, but maybe.

At 69th Street station, I need to wait ten minutes for a bus but still get home at one-thirty. Mom and I don't work today, so she's home to hear my good news.

"Gary, that's wonderful, honey. I'm so happy for you!"

I say, "Thanks, Mom. I don't start until later this month, but I'll turn in my two-week notice to Weis Market on Thursday."

She says, "Yes, that's the professional thing to do. I'm so proud of you."

I hang my puffer coat in the closet, then change out of the suit, putting on jeans and a t-shirt. Billy will be picking me up around two o'clock. We're going to Uncle Tony's barbershop for haircuts. Maybe there is something magical about us having the same haircut the way Billy insists there is. How else to explain things going my way of late, like the ease of securing this full-time job? That was kind of magical.

Downstairs, I get my coat and call into the kitchen, "I'm going for a haircut, Mom."

She calls something back to me, but I'm going out the door, unsure what she said. She probably said for me to tell Uncle Tony not to cut my hair so short. Ha-ha, Billy won't go for that, and I go for what he goes for.

Pacing around outside with my hands in my coat's pockets, I get a text from George. 'Did you get it?' I grin as I'm texting, 'Yep, $500 an 'effing week!'

He congratulated me, and we agreed to get together tomorrow during the day when he has no classes and Billy's working. Mom and my work schedule give us Monday through Wednesday off this week. Then we'll work eight days in a row; my last eight days at Weis Market.

Billy, wearing an artificial-fur-lined dungaree jacket, drives up in the SUV with a huge smile on his face. As I get in, he goes, "Way to go, Gary! Dad texted me that you were hired."

We slap hands, then hug as I say, "Your dad must have had it all set up for me. I don't deserve a lot of credit because, from the start, it was as if I was already hired, assuming I wanted the job."

He asks, "What's the salary?"

I tell him, and he goes, "Five hundred a week? Holy shit, that's fantastic! If I didn't need to work tomorrow, we'd drive to the college and check out apartments. We'll do that Saturday."

I'm like, "I'm working Saturday, but we can look online. The other thing is, I sort of still need to talk my Dad into this apartment idea."

We're both wicked excited as Billy parks near the barbershop, saying, "Last night I talked with my parents about sharing the apartment, and, amazingly, they had no objections. After all, my brother lives on his college campus out of state."

Walking into the barbershop, we agree we'll tell our parents that this weekend will be a test to see if we're compatible to be roommates at college.

Uncle Tony stops cutting a man's hair to say, "Hey, boys. I wondered when you were coming in. I missed you last week."

Billy smiles and says, "That was my bad, Tony. I didn't have a day off work last week, and then Saturday, I got tied up with stuff."

There is an old, mostly bald guy in one of the waiting chairs, so Billy and I take off our coats, then sit as far away from the old guy as possible, grinning at one another.

It's awesome seeing Billy so happy and excited. He's smiling at me as he squeezes the back of my neck, murmuring, "That's my boy, Gary. Good deal!"

Then he leans his head close to mine and whispers, "I can hardly wait to get you in the garage after our haircuts for some serious messing around."

I gulp, feeling proud of myself and more wonderful than I've ever felt before in my life. Billy's proud of me, and he can't wait to mess around with me. We're in love! I can't stop smiling and glancing at the most perfect lover I'll ever have in my life.

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.

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