For the Love of 'Old Money'

Chapter 2- BURGERS

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I walk into my favorite burger place on Broome Street. (Mostly because it doesn't cost a small fortune to eat a burger with fries, and their burgers are a solid 4 out of 5 ⭐️)

Becca gets off work early on Wednesdays, so I'm not surprised to see my blonde friend, already sitting in a booth. And FYI: All of us socially-awkward people would like to thank whomever invented restaurant booths! (Who wants to feel that exposed while you shovel food into your mouth? Yep, me neither. Tables are the worst!)

I slide into the cozy booth, the faux-leather making that weird creaking noise as I sit. I stare across at my friend. She's wearing her signature black-framed glasses, and her short blonde bob is sleek and pin-straight. Becca's wardrobe is mostly monochromatic (think black, gray, white, occasionally beige) so I'm surprised to see her wearing a pale blue sleeveless top.

"Sooooooooo," she greets me, without explanation. But, we both know that her 'soooooooo' really means 'how did the interview go? Did you get the job? Tell me everything'.

I answer her unspoken questions by saying, "The interview was 'interesting'." (And if you're wondering, yep, I totally did air-quotes around the word interesting)

"Interesting good? Interesting bad?"

How do I answer this exactly? I mean, technically I did get the job, but if I were a betting woman (which I'm not) the chances are pretty high that my new boss will just immediately fire me.

"Um a little of both I guess."

Frustrated by my answers Becca says, "Vague much, Emmy? The back of my shampoo bottle gives more details than you just did, and all it says is lather, rinse, repeat."

(Did I mention that my best friend is hilarious?)

And so, I give Becca all the little details she's clambering for. From pregnant Barbie to GQ boss and my lack of job security, I tell her everything.

She seems completely unfazed by my story. But, here's the thing, Becca was born and raised in Queens. She's seen a lot in her twenty-seven years. So, what was the strangest job interview I've ever had, is just another Wednesday morning to her.

Don't believe me? I have proof in the form of a picture we took in St. Lucia. (Work vacation generously paid for by her employer) In the pic, we are literally being mauled by a mob of hungry goats trying to steal our street food. While I look like I'm being eaten alive, Becca is sending an email from her phone! Sending an email! If Becca ever says 'you'll never believe what happened', buckle up my friend, because I'm betting her story will blow your mind.

"All you have to do is show up tomorrow and prove that you deserve the job," she encourages, as if it's that easy.

"That's just it! I'm not sure I do deserve the job!" I self-deprecate. "I'm not even sure what the company does. Although, for what they'll be paying me, I'd gladly scrape feces off of the bathroom walls."

"Gross Emmy. I'm trying to eat here," she scolds while chewing a complimentary bread roll. Toilet humor is Becca's kryptonite, every classy bone in her body cringes at the mere thought. Needless to say, I love using toilet humor around her.

"Relax, you're only eating bread. It's not like you're munching on tootsie rolls or chocolate swirl ice cream," I defend, and she gives me the all too familiar evil eye.

Saved by the server! A nice young girl takes our orders, which neither of us needed a menu for. And once the server's gone. Becca eyes me typing on my phone.

"You should have done that two days ago," she tells me, and immediately I'm confused.

"Done what?" I ask.