The Trouble Is

Chapter 11: Volunteers

The next morning we head over to the local food pantry, hoping to get the early-bird choice for time slots. Volunteering is not optional for us. Our mothers have always made us do something each summer. And now that we are "college bound," it's also become the mission of the school counselor to make sure we have "pursued our opportunities" and "ensured we ticked off the boxes of success." I know, I know—insert barf sounds here.

The food pantry is a different sort of volunteer experience. The food pantry has all the bonus points for volunteerism: flexible hours, no dress code as long as you actually have on clothes over your bathing suit, and the primary rule is to avoid showing up hungover. Their words, I swear. "Avoid showing up hungover." As in "try not to." You gotta love adults who remember what it was like to be young and alive.

So you get it, right? It's the most relaxed place to be when compared with the other options in town. And trust me, those options are limited to things like the local library (boring) or the area church camp (seriously too much work). Everyone scrambles to fill the open slots, so it's important to be the first ones at the food pantry each summer. It's a small building tucked behind the county courthouse, so there are a limited number of slots available. If you don't make the cut there, you might end up helping in the local nursing home or going on a church mission trip to rack up the hours.

We arrive as the back door is being unlocked. We are in luck—Linda's in charge today. The key things to know about Linda are that she is totally chill and she is an amazing cook. She spent years traveling the world with her ex-husband and took full advantage of the opportunities to learn the secrets of the world's most amazing food. She specializes in pastries: light, fluffy concoctions with sprinkles of sugar and drizzles of glazes. There are no imitations allowed in Linda's world. It's all real butter and sweet tea.

"Girls, girls, girls," she sings as we duck under her arm to head into the pantry's office. "So great to see you again this year, my dears."

"You too," Katie says. "We're ready to work, Auntie."

Yes, Linda is Katie's aunt. However, we are treated the same while at the pantry. This is not family time, Linda says. We will show up on time, try to not be hungover, log our time in and time out, and keep the labels facing forward as we stock the shelves. We signed an agreement last year stating all of this. We are well trained by Aunt Linda. We know the most important part of this job is to treat our customers with respect. "Yes ma'am" and "yes sir" matter most here, she says, where people are struggling to maintain dignity.

Her enforcement of manners is legendary. We've all heard the stories of her phone calls to the parents of summer volunteers, her refusal to sign timesheets approving hours, and even her tight-lipped reproach at the early warning indicators of a hangover.

"Y'all are the first ones here this year," she says, giving us that big smile that won her a beauty pageant crown back in the day. "Pick your times, my girls. And feel free to log some time today; I could use the help."

Katie opens the signup book and starts writing our initials. Within minutes, the next few days are filled with K&A on each block. It looks like we will be working from ten a.m. until five p.m. all week with a one-hour lunch break, which some unlucky kid will have to fill. It's definitely first come and all that here. That should give me time to get Doug up and running each morning. It also means that we will be finished with the summer's volunteer work after two weeks and then have the whole amazing summer before us, shimmering with possibility.

We put our purses in one of the lockers, and I pocket the locker key. Aunt Linda hands us each a little clip-on badge that says "Food Pantry Volunteer." We both pull our hair back into tight little topknots secured with elastic bands, and we are ready to get to work.