No Worries All Goodle

We were halfway to Anaheim and the day felt suddenly fun. I’d wear a prom dress! If they wanted me to. Neither Vanessa nor I really knew what the event was, just that our friend Lily needed extra hands. She had been hired by her aunt’s wife’s ex-business partner as a “producer” which is the most useless word in all of LA but it seemed like the sort of gig that half employs half our city. Vanessa said it was connected to this big annual food convention, ExpoWest, where vendors promote new products. Right by Disneyland. Not in the park, just next to it. There would probably be all sorts of free snacks. Vanessa is a professional chef so I trusted her. The night before, I got a text from an unknown number to “meet at HOB”. The Boss assumed I knew that meant House of Blues but I had to ask. The Boss shall go unnamed.

HOB is on the upper level of Anaheim Gardenwalk, a lifestyle center that opened in the middle of the 2008 financial crisis and is now “Voted #1 Place to Park” on its own website. It was empty when we got there.

“Who are you with?” Asked a face-tatted security guard.

“Um,” I paused, “The event?”

He shook his head. “Which event?”

“Um-” I was trying not to giggle. Vanessa stepped in, “Goodles?”

The security guard stuck out his chin. “Huh?”

“I know,” I agreed. “It’s, um, they’re the host. Goodles. They’re noodles.”

It had been one day since I had learned of Goodles. A boxed mac n’ cheese food company that contains extra protein from blended chickpeas and something else I think. Lily had tried to explain what she could. “The event is gonna be like a prom, for adults, in the organic food industry. Sponsored by Goodles.”

“Wait, what?” I had said.

“Goodles.” She had said.

“What?”

“Goodles.”

The building was big, all concrete and steel, like a deserted club from a 90’s movie. At the end of a long hallway, a figure emerged. It sped toward us until it was a short woman in leggings and a scowl. The Boss. One of the first things I noticed at House of Blues Anaheim was that The Boss did not like me. I took it personally until clocking she did not like anyone. Employees included her son, her brother, and her best friend. Without a hello, she pointed to Vanessa. “So,” she began, “you’re gonna go over there with him”, pointing to her son. “And you…” she squinted at me. Forever short on time, the Boss had a habit of leaving before the end of her sentences. “You go over…”

The Boss’ best friend was Slovakian I think. That’s who I’d been assigned to. I was distracted, talking to her, because it was a lot to step into, just like that. This was a whole new job and there had been no icebreakers or introductions.

The Boss’ friend called herself a veteran in reference to parties and their planning. Apparently some 3,000+ guests had RSVP-ed as attending and she said this like that’s a small number. She told me that our job was tinsel. We had 5 hours to wrap it around the entire mezzanine balcony.

Halfway into set-up, some Goodles employees finally arrived. They wore matching turquoise jackets with patches and pins that captured their self-described brand of “weirdly joyful magic”. I helped unload their candy-colored boxes of macaroni, hoping one of them might ask me a question. They were young-ish. If I’d never quit my corporate job, we could have been peers. Judging by their clean sneakers, they were probably in the marketing department. We would’ve all been on the digital team, standing desk mates. Once the display table was covered in flavors like SHELLA GOOD and TWIST MY PARM, I noticed some leftover SQUEEZY CHEESY.

“Yoo…” I hinted, “Think I could take one of these home?”

A 30-something with a peace sign pasta pin blinked at me. “Um,” She eyed the cart then the rest of her team. They nodded. “Yeah, I mean. Yeah, take whatever.”

I grabbed as many pasta boxes as I could palm.

“Y’all got any boiling water?” I tried.

I thought I’d heard a laugh.

We were connecting, perhaps. I honed in on the one with tattoos and a moustache. Pointing at his embroidered patch of a smiling noodle, I tried speaking again.

“Rad”, I said.

A word I don’t often say. But he didn’t know that, and he did not respond. Everyone was pretending like I had spoken nothing to no one. What was happening? I hadn’t said one good thing out loud all day. This wasn’t like me. No one here knew that I was fun. No one here really even knew me…

I was hungry, I realized. Where were the free snacks, Vanessa? This whole event was about food. They hadn’t even offered us water. In search of something edible, I did a lap. Milling about were the videographers, the DJS, the pretzel bite girls. I followed one backstage and she led me into the green room. Inside, squeezed together on a small couch, sat a group of women in prom dresses. The fact that they couldn’t all fit had them laughing and clapping and made me miss my friends. Where was Lily? I asked if they’d seen her. They hadn’t. Then I asked which group they were with. I was shocked to hear they also worked for the Boss. I’d never noticed them. Where had they been? Hiding, they told me. They were all sharing one can of coke. They’d found it in the mini fridge. Last one, sorry. I wanted them to offer me a sip so bad but they were huddled up in their own friendship world, debating which app to order food from.

I plead. “You really think they’re not gonna feed us?”

The one placing the order didn’t even look up from her phone. “Girl, you’re not getting a pretzel bite.”

Then there was a knock at the door. They shushed me like a high school house party. Another knock. The stowaways looked at their feet. I’d always been the one to talk to the cops. I opened the door and it closed quickly behind me. There she stood, arms folded. The Boss.

All day, she’d maintained we were behind schedule. Now, guests were arriving in less than an hour, Goodles C-suite any minute, and the entire entryway was still a total mess. But she’d gathered the troops and I was delighted to finally see my friend Lily. We hadn’t been able to talk shit all day. The Boss shushed us.

“All these boxes?” she pointed at mountains of cardboard that blocked off the red carpet that was actually purple. “Unbox ‘em!” she demonstrated, ripping open a taped box with her bare hands. Then she pulled out a baby blue rubber tote bag. It was Croc-like and half her size. “These bags? These bags are the goodie bags. Shelve ‘em.” She swung it at the wall and it bounced off a display case, contents spilling. I laughed. “You.” The Boss stared at me. From the kangaroo pouch of her sweatshirt, she pulled out a pack of tinsel. “I need these shelves draped. Guests will want their bag when they enter. Guests don’t get bag until they exit. You cover ‘em up.” I nodded. She repeated like we had this joke where I was a stupid dog. “Tinsel shelf. Hide bag.” Shaking the tinsel like a chew toy, she growled. “Doesn’t gotta be perfect, just gotta be done.”

Under the Boss’ patrol, Lily opened the boxes, Vanessa stacked the bags, and I tinseled the racks. We fell into a quiet, desperate rhythm. Too hungry to really laugh. Plus, we were cold. Outside, it had begun to really rain. Quicker we worked, warmer we got.

I forced myself from the tinsel. I had agency. I didn’t even work for Goodles. I snatched a swag bag and hid behind a huge display box of macaroni. Contents included: uncooked noodles, probiotic powder, pimple patches, a can of cold brew, a packet of matcha, a packet of matcha vitamins, and a 32 ounce carton of what looked to be potable milk but was actually dish soap. No food.

Back on the floor, they’d kicked into overdrive. All cardboard cleared, bags shelved. At the end of the purple red carpet, an elaborate balloon garland hung above fresh corsages and multicolored boutonnieres. The boss ordered us backstage to change but I slowed as the first guests arrived. They had to be the Goodles execs. When they “ooh-ed”, the Boss’ mouth did something toward smile and I felt my tail wag. Monochrome suits of blue and pink, all candy-colored like their pasta boxes. The chiefs moved as a pack, a handful of wild berry skittles, nodding, applauding, tasting our rainbow.

Gee, was I famished. I’d been distracting hunger with visions of my future prom wear but as it turned out, that was just for the Dancers and the Producers. Vanessa and my only costume was a Goodles t-shirt. They said we could keep them but I felt a little disappointed. Lily was backstage, changing into one of those gowns. We love playing dress up and I couldn’t help but wonder if her costumed status might result in respect and therefore food.

Alas, it was not so. In the green room, we blinked at each other in the mirror. My friend Lily is one of the prettiest girls in the world but you would never know it, in that dress. It was the kind of dress jealous brides force on hot bridesmaids. A dress no highschooler had or will ever wear to prom. The cowl neck hung so low I could see half of each nipple. When she bent I could see the whole. Full tit in a way that was somehow, devastatingly, not sexy. “I don’t think it fits.” she said. I could only nod. Very soon it was her job to greet guests at the door, outside, in the rain. I squeezed her hand, it was already cold. This was not good. I started checking all the racks of Fashion Nova until I found a strapless Small. A muted green I could only describe as ugly. I zipped it up. She couldn’t even look in the mirror before sprinting off to her new station.

The room was clearing out. I stared back at myself in my new purple t-shirt. My face looked different. Bad. I didn’t look like that this morning. Had I aged? I looked older. The rain had poofed my hair which also made me look younger. But in the bad way. I was supposed to greet people like this? Wait, what was I supposed to do?

Outside, throngs of adults queued below tents in the rain. They had to really love Goodles. The Boss shoved a heaving plastic bag full of sparkly rainbow wristbands at me. Pointing across the outdoor mall she said, “Take these there so-” then turned on her heel and left. I could just make out her son, across the way, by the parking garage. We had worked together earlier, carrying boxes for a while, but had failed to connect. Not for my lack of trying. My humor was not his, it seemed. He was waving. I really wanted my jacket. I huffed a few sharp breaths before sprinting through the heavy rain.

More guests waited in the covered parking lot. This party was the “hottest afters of ExpoWest” I overheard from the front of a line. Two lines slithered down Disney’s best off-site garage. The Boss’ son explained one was VIP, the other General Admission. He poked my bag of wristbands. “These are for VIP only. But, unfortunately, like I warned her, this QR scanner needs wifi, so-” he exhaled, clearly stressed. “It’s fine. We’ll just have to eyeball the tickets. If it says 6:30, they‘re VIP. Any later is GA. They’re not admitted for another hour. They stand in that line over there. And they’ll get different wristbands, green. But, yeah. Worry about that later. Just - no ticket, no entry. And, yeah. There are umbrellas.”

He’d done a good job, the Boss’s son. He held up a hand to speak privately into the walkie talkie. Something about the broken QR scanner. Maybe he could take on the business one day. The walkie bleeped back. He began to repeat himself before getting cut off. I recognized that bark. My Boss, his Mom. He lowered the walkie talkie then threw his head back, blinking rapidly at the concrete ceiling. “Hey,” I said. He flinched. I nodded at his two lines, “you’re doing a great job.”

He waited for me to say something else. When I didn’t, he smiled like he might cry. I looked away and decided to forgive him for not laughing at my jokes.

At the front of the VIP line was a man in a navy fleece vest. Behind him were four other men with the exact same vest and hairline. Most guests were either dressed like their product or for prom. The embroidered cow over their hearts told me the former. It was 6:29 PM, we had a minute. I leaned toward the first man, the clear leader, “Are you milk guys?”

He glanced up from his Apple watch. “Excuse me?”

I laughed preemptively and repeated myself, “Milk men. Are you in milk?” He stared. My run through the rain had drenched my purple Goodles tee. Maybe he couldn’t hear me, my teeth were chattering. I pointed to the cow logo on his vest. “Milk? Cheese?”

He squinted. “We’re in supplements. Bovine collagen. Do I show you my ticket? We’re VIP.” He was holding the little screen on his wrist toward my face. I squinted at the scattered squares of black and white. Then I checked my Casio, 6:30.

When I gave him a VIP wristband, the men behind snickered. He put it on and let his wrist go dramatically limp. His whole team erupted in laughter. He was their boss but he was a jokester too. I wanted to be in on it. It was a gay joke, right? Because the wristband was rainbow? Or sparkly? I wasn’t judging, I just wanted to understand. One of the subordinates wiped at his eyes. That’s how hard he’d laughed. I missed my friends.

I passed out more wristbands. Fake-scanning QR codes. Amongst the VIP guests, I noticed a quirky blazer trend. Colored to match the brand. Green for the pickle girls, a popcorn company wore off-white. Two women had matching pullovers with one big oat on it. Or some other ancient grain. It was hard to say out of scale like that. They were the first to ask me about pizza and I said I did not know. The next guy wore purple suspenders and snapped them as he too asked about pizza. I said I knew nothing of pizza goddamnit. I was still starving.

It was right around then that pizza did in fact arrive. “Hiii, sorry we’re late!” exclaimed a blonde elder millennial. She carried a stack of pizza boxes with her coworker, who was so short I could only see her Grey Goose sneakers. She had to lean her tiny neck around their tower of pizza to speak. “Where’s the station for VIP? We’re Hummingbird. Here to pass out the pizza.” She had a sharp brunette bob. Petite and scary. She looked around. I looked around.

I guess I was the person to ask. “Um, hi.” I smiled. The smell of pizza was intoxicating. “Yeah, so this is the VIP area. But, yeah, it’s weird… No real station. QR scanners broken. Pretty minimal setup. I don’t actually know where you’re meant to put those. Sorry.” I tried to say it in a way where I was not to blame. Like, Goodles had really messed up. But my t-shirt said Goodles.

More women arrived holding stacks of pizza. The petite brunette whispered and all eyes darted my way. They held me responsible.

“Sorry ladies,” I continued. “I wish they had a table or something.” Emphasis on they. I tried to think of something else to say. Never in my life had I needed a group of women to like me more. The ladies turned over a trashcan and were using it like a table, handing out slices to impatient VIPs. As guests pushed their phones in my face, I tried to think of a sentence that could turn it all around. A compliment? Too desperate.

“Hey!” I shouted over the VIPs. “Tell me about your pizza!” The expo had hosted a well-attended pitch workshop. They could go on and on. But the short brunette just shrugged and took a phone call.

Her subordinate, the blonde, was less comfortable with the silence. “I don’t really know!” She offered. “Cheese or pepperoni, I think!”

I considered this. Then, prepared to lie about living in Anaheim, I asked if they were local. “No!” laughed the blonde.

“Oh-” I stammered. “Where can I buy your pizza?”

“You can’t!” laughed the blonde again. “We’re marketing!” She pointed to the hummingbird on the box. “We do bespoke branding and social advertising! Mostly micro influencers.” I shivered and she squinted. “Girl, it’s raining! Where is your jacket?”

A violent impulse flashed before my eyes. I blinked it back. She didn’t know. They were keeping it from me, locked away in the HOB dungeon. That’s where. Enough with the pleasantries. I pointed to her box, “Can I please?”

“Oh my god, girl!” she gushed, “Duh!”

I lunged toward the pizza, abandoning my post. My hands were full of wristbands I stuffed into my pockets. VIPS at the front of the line started calling out for me. I could hear but could not care. They could all wait. No one here even knew my name. I took as big a bite as I could fit.

“Lena?”

I nearly choked. Mouth full, I turned. It was the Boss’ Son. He’d opened the line for GA. “Hey!” I shouted. Turning back to my slice, I folded it in half. “Just one sec!” I stuffed the pizza into my cargo pants pocket. Into my Goodles shirt, I wiped my oil slick mouth. Then, still chewing, I grabbed another slice. The brunette had returned from her fake phone call.

She laughed, “OK. Love that for you.”

I hope you die, midget. Oh god. I’d finally unleashed my hunger and it raged... No one was safe. The Boss’s son called for me again. I kneeled to tie my shoe and, instead, choked down the slice in my hand.

Back at my station, people were still queuing, rain still pouring, but I had eaten. And a little was still left in my pocket. Something to think of as guests got more rude.

A man in a normal blazer, nothing gimmicky, walked past without showing a ticket. I tapped his shoulder. He whipped around, glaring at his tiny asian wife who quickly pointed at me. It bothered him, looking at me. Likely the pizza-stained Goodles shirt. I tried to say “ticket?” but it got stuck in my throat. He frowned like I had just burped in his face. The small wife rubbed at his back. I handed her two wristbands and apologized.

I had accepted our differences, the guests and I. We were meant to be having different nights. Theirs good. Mine bad. There was this wall between us and it stood so tall that I had decided, finally, not to climb it. I’d only fall. Safer down here, on this side.

Something else I’d accepted about that night: I was ugly. It’s OK, seriously. It was out of my hands. A freak accident. Due to a perfect storm of weather and apparel; I, that night, was not pretty. And I noticed, interestingly enough, it was making people treat me bad. Or just, less. Men looked right through me. I couldn’t blame them. Nothing much to see… My shirt was dirty, hair frizzy, cheeks a blotchy red. And red in a ruddy way - no whimsy.

Stripped of my looks, I fell prey to a gaggle of Scottish men in matching polos. Drunk and unticketed, they outnumbered me. When I asked for a QR code, the loudest one pawed at his phone, then showed a Google image search of “QR code”. I had to laugh. He took my hand and kissed it. It was shocking. This sudden realization that, all night, no man had even tried to touch me. My hand still in his, I opened it and relinquished enough VIP bracelets for the whole lot of ‘em.

That kind of attention felt good. Like I’d cozied up to a familiar fireplace. There was still a pretty girl frozen inside. The Scot’s unsolicited touch had warmed her. As she thawed, I suddenly understood something. Even if he’d been flirting just to get something out of me, I had what he wanted. It had been there all along... The wristbands. Their fate was literally in my hands.

But I was of the people. And would wield my power with mercy. At the front of the line an unticketed woman was naming people she knew at Goodles. Was there a list? She might be on it. She was doing this whole dance for me. I watched her spin until she got dizzy. Then tapped her shoulder and winked. “Listen,” I said, "It's raining. I trust you.” Then I slid my sparkly gift over her grateful little wrist. It was magic.

The look on their faces. I stopped asking for tickets all together. Made a big show of it. Looking left and right, like at any moment, I could be caught. Like my job was really on the line but I’d risk it all for them, my new friends. Men fist-bumped me like I’d done them a real solid. Women smiled like this was sisterhood.

I had to find Lily, tell her the news. Before anyone could protest, I announced that I was leaving. With power came freedom. At the doors of HOB, I found Lily in a Goodles tee. That ugly dress had gotten so wet with rain that she’d had to change clothes in her car. Neither of us had heard from Vanessa. But apparently Vanessa Hudgens had come and even given a speech as co-founder of a cactus water company. Some lady in a slick bun nudged her phone between us and Lily scanned the QR code. We could not believe people were still queuing in the rain. I told Lily to watch. When the next group arrived, I demonstrated my new policy.

“Hello ladies! Wrists, please.” Without scanning a ticket, I slipped a VIP band on each of their wrists and winked. Lily caught on immediately, adding a conspicuous “You girls have fun, ok?” Even when the Boss’ Son joined us outside, we kept it up. He asked a presumably European family in thin sneakers for proof of ticket. The mother explained, “Eh-sorry, we are from eh-Spain.” Lily and I appeared on either side of her. I lifted her phone screen out of view and Lily tapped at the locked wallpaper of a dewy rose. “Yup, looks good to me!” We cheered, racing to put bands on the whole family. The Boss’ Son said nothing. When the reps from his favorite meal replacement drink showed up unticketed, we theatrically looked the other way.

We were remembering what it was like to have fun. Why I’d agreed to come to Anaheim. It could all be funny when we were together. New friends didn’t matter. None of these people did. Then came a group of handsome white men in South American hats. One stepped forward and bowed his latin cap. “Listen, we’re not on the list… But-” Before we could tell him that we did not care, he pressed his palms together and tipped the prayer hands at his comrade, “He is Guayaki.” That man stepped forth. He wore a woven poncho, in addition to the hat, shaking his head like somehow, it was true. Lily giggled. I, however, gasped. Heart racing, I blurted out my favorite flavor, “Enlighten Mint!” The men nodded, cautiously. Poncho man looked at his watch, used to this. I went on, “I’ve been drinking your yerba mate since high school! Seriously!” I yelled like a superfan, like a security threat. They backed up and I showered them in wristbands. Very Important People! After they were safely inside, it got quiet. I didn’t know what had come over me. How could this night keep robbing me of my dignity. Lily didn’t say anything and I couldn’t either.

The Boss broke our silence. “Are you ladies done out here?” she barked. Her tone implied this was all voluntary. “Closing time. We need you back inside. All the bags out. All the boxes-” She shifted her weight, then walked away. Our last assignment.

It was happening all at once. The coming and going. The guests, the boxes. We restocked goodie bags as soon as someone took one, sometimes before. Our factory rhythm was out of sync. The shelves were full, brimming with bags: whose brand name, as it turns out, was Bogg. But the boxes were still appearing, stacking. So many Boggs. We were running out of places to put things. I moved to the back where guests weren’t walking so I could open more boxes. I wanted everything out. I wanted to feel like it could be finished. Like this wasn’t all waste. The cardboard was so soggy it ripped in our hands. How were there so many boxes of bags? Boggs. Bogg, I thought. The damp carpet below my feet. My sneakers were soaked. I squished from right foot to left. Bog.

“What happened to your hand!” Lily had to yell twice before I heard her.

My left hand was bleeding. So much that I couldn’t tell from where. I wiped it on my greasy Goodles shirt. Familiar electric guitar plucked over the speakers and of all songs “The Middle” by Jimmy Eat World blared through the House of Blues.

Hey, don’t write yourself off yet

It’s only in your head you feel left out

Or looked down on

I’ve witnessed that song at karaoke. They way it can whip up a room. But from where we stood, it rang out like a sonic attack. It was not only in our head that we felt left out. All night we had been looked down on. We could hear guests singing over the music and over that, a battle cry of new orders. The Boss had changed her mind. Don’t break down the boxes! We need them! Rebox the Boggs!

Just do your best (just do your best)

Do everything you can (everything you can)

Each lyric seemed to mock us. We had been doing our best. Why had we been doing our best? For what? Goodles? Lily was now trying to re-assemble a broken down cardboard box. I saw in her something that embarrassed me in myself. An unmistakable longing. To do well. At something, anything. Even a protein-packed mac and cheese party.

It just takes some time

Little girl you’re in the middle of the ride

Everything, everything’ll be just fine

Everything, everything’ll-

I kicked at a Bogg which kicked back like an overfilled tire. That song wasn’t even for us. It was playing for the people on the other side of the wall. The guests, with jobs. Who knew exactly what their week looked like. Who we pitied Monday morning but on this one Thursday night, got to dance. Lily picked at the contents of the punted Bogg. She pulled out the matcha vitamins.

“Bad news,” I said. “They’re not good.” Which reminded me of the pizza in my pocket. I unfolded the nibbled slice and offered it to her.

“I have bad news too.” she said between bites. “Did you know it’s Good-les? Like good?”

“No way.” I argued. “It’s goo-dle like noo-dle.”

“Nuh-uh. I overheard the executives backstage. Good-uhl. The gooder noodle.”

“Lily…” I relented.

“I know.” Lily said. “I don’t think I’m gonna work for these people again.”

I nodded. “I don’t think you should.”

On our way out, we grabbed what we could. Pints of melting ice cream, Goodles sporks, even more Boggs. My purse was so full of dry mac and cheese, it wouldn’t even zip. Back in Vanessa’s car, it barely fit at my feet. Lily had driven herself so we left just us two. We felt a little bad for leaving her behind but she was also the reason why we’d been there. We didn’t blame her. But, we could if we wanted to. Aside from Vanessa’s story about a group of Scottish men who allegedly snuck into VIP and abused the open bar, it was a quiet ride home. Vanessa dropped me at my car and we parted without ceremony. She had wondered aloud if this had been the worst night of her life.

When I find a parking spot, 4 blocks from my house, it’s 1:14 AM and Lily is calling. She’s just now leaving the House of Blues. “Can you stay on the line while I drive home? I’m scared of falling asleep.” I agree, too tired to exit my car. I dump a Bogg on my front seat and open a warm pint of ice cream. “Are you eating something?”

“Trying to,” I say. “I don’t have a spoon.” I lick at the carton. Banana date with cocoa nibs. “So what, this ice cream is healthy or something?”

“No.” says Lily. “Nothing there was good for you. Not actually. It was all processed. And disgusting.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t feed us.” I say, lapping up the soupy ice cream.

“I know. I’m sorry. I really didn’t know it was gonna be like that.” A long stretch of silence goes by. “Lily?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, just making sure.” My lactose intolerance has caught up with me and the ice cream and the cheese pizza. I hold my stomach, still hungry. “I don’t feel good.”

We both sigh, “Goodle.”

By the time Lily returns home, I’ve reached mine. We’re not talking but we haven’t hung up. “I should probably go to bed.”

“Me too,” I say. But I can just make out the clicking of her stove over the sound of my own boiling pot.