Kelly introduced herself to those seated as “Kelly Hui, Bashful Goose Snack Company. I’m here to help you with whatever you need. We’re a team here. We must work together,” before launching into the same short speech she’d given Zhao about saving not only calories, but lives.
The counselors nodded, smiled—no teeth, all pursed lips—fidgeted, picked at their food.
Kelly pushed her own food-like substances around her plate with her chopsticks. The blob left a slime trail. A successful leader speaks from the heart, makes him- or herself relatable to others. “Where’d they get this cook?” she said to the table, trying to lighten the mood. “A prison?”
Everyone around the table, with the exception of Zhao, emitted robotic laughter.
Kelly, failing to notice their insincerity, grinned. “And if so, then I’m going to hope for the death penalty!”
Zhao picked up a piece of his gelatinous blob with his chopsticks, held it up, studied it intently. “Delicious food is what got these kids here in the first place.”
Kelly dropped her chopsticks and returned her hands to her lap, balled into fists. Yes, her jokes were incongruous, but they were nonetheless chuckle-worthy, hardly deserving of such a stark response. Hey, hey, the nimrod was back for round two; not going down without a fight. Well, she’d give it to him. “Yeah, well, starvation isn’t the way to go about it,” she snapped. “Their metabolisms will shut down. It’s better that we teach them healthy eating habits and to eat sensible portions of nutritious foods.” She looked to the others for backup. They all chewed their lips, played with their food, peered down at their trays.
Zhao placed his chopsticks beside his tray. “I didn’t realize you were a medical doctor.” He picked at a whitehead on his jawline.
“No, but I have the Internet and something called common sense. Have you heard of either?”
A half-dozen set of eyes darted between the thick-maned heiress and the balding administrator.
Zhao dabbed his ooze-gushing zit with the side of his hand. He picked up his chopsticks, used them to maneuver the gelatinous blob into his mouth. “Extreme obesity calls for extreme solutions.”
“Oh, so you have heard of the Internet. Fantastic. And you’ve read the back of a Miss Mian’s Laxative Tea box. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe that’s their official slogan. Extreme obesity calls for—” Zhao’s cheeks flushed red. Flustered. She was getting to him.
“Yeah, well, I made some of my own slogans too: fat kids grow into fat adults, so let’s cut down the weeds before they spoil the garden.” As he spoke, she caught glimpses of that nasty blob resting on his white-fuzz-coated tongue like a tumor, like some rare disease. “And then—”
Another bell rang, thankfully cutting short his foray into Mad Men territory. Prepared now for the worst, Kelly instinctively covered her head and ducked under the table. But this time there was no earthquake. The ground was still. The others remained unfazed. She waited a moment—safety first!—before she crawled out and retook her seat. Campers lazily stood and lumbered toward the doors, some lingering only to steal a few last licks from their trays. The counselors returned their own trays to the kitchen and left without a word.
Peace and quiet. Absence. Her stomach growled. Kelly poked her own gelatinous blob with her chopsticks. She’d dealt with Zhao, his insubordinate attitude, satisfactorily. Now she needed another form of gratification. She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. “Hey, so you must have some real food in your office, right?”
Zhao nodded. His cheeks had taken on a greenish hue. Kelly realized that he still hadn’t brought himself to swallow the blob and couldn’t spit it out now in front of the cook, who was intently pushing in chairs the campers had left askew. Zhao stood, wobbly on his feet. “Let’s go,” he murmured, his words slightly garbled. “It’s growing in my mouth.”
Kelly followed Zhao to his office, where he shut the door and spat the blob into the wastepaper basket. He sputtered, hunched over the basket, strings of blob-infused drool falling from his mouth before finally wiping his face on his sleeve and composing himself. He marched over to his desk and unlocked one of its drawers, revealing an impressive stash of cookies, chocolate bars, and potato chips.
“Is this stuff you’ve confiscated from campers?”
“Contraband, yeah. Some of it,” Zhao said. He tore open a bag of Lays. “Some I bought myself.”
Get to know your people. The best managers become actively involved with what their people are trying to accomplish.
Kelly narrowed her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
Zhao set the open bag of Lays down on his desktop. He sat. He shrugged.
“Why are you here? Was your old man owed a favor by someone in the government or something?” A mocking tone seeped into her voice—she didn’t want to be this, she was losing control, she was better than this. “Was your dad one of those guys who refused to let the government tear down his shit-hole of a house to build a shopping mall, claiming unjust compensation and to ‘stand for something’ until the government upped the price a bit and offered his son a job in return? Or was he—”
Zhao stopped her, saying softly, “My father is dead.”
Kelly tossed her hair over her shoulder. She tried her best to appear unfazed. “Yeah, okay, whatever. So I’m just so rude now, aren’t I? You probably think, Oh, why is she criticizing me when she’s not qualified either. Well, I am qualified. I have a business degree from America and I am the head of—”
“Corporate social responsibility at Bashful Goose Snack Company,” Zhao finished her sentence.
She crossed her arms, puffed out her cheeks, and stared down at him. He leaned back in his chair. Sighed. Leaned forward again. Tapped his fingers on the desk’s edge. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. I’m hardly qualified for a position at McDonald’s, much less here. I’m a loser. I’m hideous.”
She uncrossed her arms. She wasn’t expecting him to come over to her side so easily.
“But if you must know, I got this job through an agency. I don’t know why they hired me, okay? There looked to be several other attractive, more authoritative applicants waiting when I went in for the interview. Why they chose me and not them, I’ll never know. But I’m glad they did. I’m glad to have a paycheck is all I mean. And, hell, a little prestige. But truthfully, I hate working. It’s exhausting. I’d rather be watching TV or fucking around on the Internet. But no one gets paid for doing that, do they? That doesn’t earn anyone any respect.”
But of course people got paid to do that—how about that government official, living it up right this minute in Macau’s ornate casinos; how about her father doing Sudoku puzzles at his gold-rimmed desk; how about the past two years of her own life?
“So,” he continued, “I wasn’t going to question their decision. Why would I? I accepted happily, gratefully. Not because I’m passionate about weight loss or because I thought I’d be the best person for this job or even because I think I know what I’m doing, but because I needed the money, and I also needed to get my mother off my back. That’s it. That’s all.”
Kelly, noticing another swivel chair against the wall, wheeled it over to Zhao’s desk, dusted it off, sneezed, and sat down. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on a stack of papers. “Look, I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. I can be, well, I can be pretty ambitious sometimes, and I’m not really used to talking to people much anymore, and sometimes I say things I don’t mean. Okay?”
“Oh. Is that supposed to be an apology?”
Kelly shrugged. A moment of silence. They both looked everywhere but at each other.
Finally she spoke. “I can understand what you mean about your mother. I think.”
Zhao, probably relieved