Chapter Two
Ruby
“It’s important that we drive the message home,” I said to the crowd at the meeting. “We want to get past the stigma people have about protestors. We want them to be open to listen to what we have to say. The time of non-sourced Facebook sharing is over. I want you to always present evidence of our cause through reliable, peer-reviewed, clear-cut information. In an effort to combat the Huffington Post sharers out there we have put together a packet of links every one of you will receive tomorrow morning. These are links to articles that are completely legitimate and have been tested and found to be true and unbiased in intent. We have some big protests coming up, and I want everyone to stay safe. Remember we are peaceful protestors. In the words of Dr. King, himself, ‘Non-Violence is a powerful and just weapon, which cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals.’ Thank you, everyone, for coming out.”
Everyone stood and clapped, making me feel satisfied that the speech had been successful. I had been protesting for years, through many different topics, but right then, my focus was centered around outsourcing and the damage it is doing to the economic and social climate in this country. Technically, I worked for an organization called Climate X who focused on different social justice issues. But in my free time, I headed up the local New York chapter of Keep Jobs at Home, a group of concerned citizens looking to make a difference in our current and future political climate when it came to outsourcing jobs to people in other countries. Today was the last full meeting before we marched through the streets of the city next week.
“Ruby,” Elizabeth, the co-chair of KJAH called out for me as I walked toward a desk at the back of the room.
“What’s up?”
“That was a great speech,” she said holding her folders close to her chest.
Elizabeth was a young college student, interested in social justice, passionate about the causes, but lacked the assertion to get out there and protest with all her might. Not everyone was made for sit-ins, sign holding, and marches through the city, so I took Elizabeth and put her in a position where we could use her talents of organizing to the best possible ability. She thought the world of me, which I never understood since I barely had said two words to her since she started with the organization.
“Thanks,” I said smiling. “I am excited about the protest next week. They told me you specifically went above and beyond, and we are supposed to have a noticeably increased turn out this time.”
“Yeah,” she said excitedly. “I mean the Facebook event alone has over three thousand people who said they were coming. Even if only half of them show up, it’ll be triple of what it was last time. Your message is getting out there.”
“It’s not my message,” I said patting her on the shoulder. “It’s the message of the people. The message of those who are without jobs, without companies, and are struggling because the U.S. is working against their own interests when it comes to business. It’s also about the people doing those jobs. They work in unbelievable environments, are paid pennies on the dollar, and are subjected to torturous scenarios, all to go home and live in poverty.”
“Absolutely,” she said blushing.
“Okay, I am going to go meet my sister for some drinks,” I said. “You got the rest of this.”
“Yeah,” she said nodding her head. “I’ll see you soon.”
As I walked out of the building, I stopped and shook several other protestors hands. I didn’t know how I had become the face of this movement, locally, but it was kind of exhausting trying to get the job done when everyone wanted to have a conversation. The day was over, though, and I had promised my sister, Lisa, who also happens to be my best friend, that we would meet for drinks at a local pub in the Art District. She wanted to go to this uppity club, Exposé in Manhattan, but I was not feeling that at all. I was glad that she conceded and picked a more low-key spot.
When I arrived, I paid the cab driver and wandered inside, looking around for Lisa. I spotted her at the end of the bar, sipping on a pint of ale and trying to ignore the idiot guys behind her at the pool table. I smiled as I made my way over to her, hugging her tightly.
“My sister,” she sighed. “How was your meeting? You save any small children or large animals?”
“Not today, my friend, not today,” I said laughing. “It was the outsourcing organization. We have a protest next week.”
“Nice,” she said looking up at the bartender to get his attention. “Did you quote Thoreau this time?”
“No,” I grumbled. “That goes right over these people’s heads. I went with Dr. King this time because I was talking about peaceful protesting.”
“Good choice,” she said nodding her head. “So, what exactly are you working on with outsourcing.”
“It’s a social injustice, another way for big business to further separate the classes,” I said taking a sip. “People in this country are working jobs that don’t pay the bills because there isn’t anything else, especially for the working class. In the meantime, big companies with the money are sending jobs overseas, paying ridiculously low wages, and then using that money so they can buy bigger houses and more jets while Jane starves in the streets. Not to mention they skirt most of the labor laws this country has enacted to ensure workers are treated fairly, furthering the degradation of other countries and keeping their poverty line at unnecessarily low levels.”
“Don’t companies do it so they can stay in business because of the extremely tight measures on taxation and manufacturing guidelines?”
“They use that as an excuse. But the reality of it when you look at their quarterly earnings, they make more than enough money to keep everyone in the company happy and still create jobs in the United States which would help in decreasing our own poverty line,” I explained. “In the end, though, Joe CEO and his shareholders don’t want to take a million dollar pay cut.”
“I mean, would you?”
“When I made hundreds of millions a year? Yeah, I’d sacrifice that million or two,” I said shaking my head. “It’s greed and power driving them, and their want to keep the classes so far apart that no one will ever be able to move up, better their lives, and create a fairer wage system in this country.”
“I don’t know,” Lisa said. “There are pros and cons to everything.”
I did not want to have that conversation with her again. We had very different views on a lot of things, and we kept our peace with that by not discussing it. She was intense, I was passionate, and the two of us in a debate always turned into a screaming match. So, a long time ago we decided to cut off conversations before they reached that point.
“Yeah, there are,” I replied. “Anyway, so what’s up! How’s work, life, all that stuff?”
“Good,” she said, obviously okay with me changing the subject. “Stressful and always go, go, go, but you know how that is.”
“Yeah,” I snorted. “I don’t think I’ve had eight hours of sleep since I was a kid. And to think I complained when mom got me up during the summer after ten hours. I’d kill someone with a Twinkie to get 10 hours of sleep.”
“Oh,” Lisa said turning toward me. “That reminds me. I want to set you up on a blind date.”
“Okay,” I said cautiously.
“He’s a nice guy, a friend of mine,” she said shrugging. “He wants to take you to dinner on Friday.”
“Sure,” I said smiling.
“Really? I thought you would put up a fight,” she laughed.
“Nah, I need to meet people, even if it’s not a romantic match,” I said. “Everyone I know is in the business, it gets hard to have a conversation after a while. I need to get out, step out of my comfort zone.”
“That’s awesome,” she said, raising her glass. “To new beginnings.”
“Here, here,” I said clinking her glass and taking a sip.
Sure, the guy might be an immature tool like every other guy I’ve dated, but at least I would meet someone new. I had a challenging time with guys because they all wanted to play games and have fun. I had goals, a life, and a lot on my plate. I was starting to think there wasn’t a mature guy left out there.