We Are The 99%

            Sarah has been driving me crazy lately.

            We’re sitting in my room as I get changed for work—a low-paying waitress gig downtown that takes care of my half of the bills. She glances up at me once from her mad texting on her iPhone. “I mean, come on,” she says in an exaggeratedly annoyed tone. “It’s not like I’m asking him to commit or anything. It’s just a rally.”

            “Mmhmm,” I murmur.

            “Don’t put your hair in such a tight ponytail, Emry, it makes you look like you’re bald. I told him the same thing and he totally freaked.”

            “That he shouldn’t put his hair in a ponytail?”

            “No, about the rally.”

            “I don’t think he really cares about the occupy movement.” I ignore her comment about my hair. My mom says the same thing.

            “Ugh, exactly,” she says. “I don’t think this is going to work out. He’s too boring. I need excitement in my life, you know?”

            “Sad,” I reply noncommittally as I grab my purse and house keys. It is sad. I actually like Hugh, but Sarah never keeps boyfriends for long. I’d seen this coming since she first started dating him. “I gotta go,” I tell her as she opens her mouth to complain some more. “See you in a few.”

            “Have fun at work!” she says cheerfully and bounces up from my bed. “Don’t forget about the party when you get home. You promised you’d go this time. No ponytails, I mean it!”

            I don’t argue, just smile and wave as I leave our apartment. She’s been begging me to go out with her for weeks now, and I finally relented, but only because my exam was moved to Thursday, and I had the day off tomorrow.

            Work is the same as usual. I manage to snag a few bucks in tips, apparently impressing the parents of three and the groups of college buddies with my “cheerful, upbeat, helpful smile, to go that extra Luna mile.” Counting later, I find a nice chunk of cash, enough to pay for my power bill for the month.

            “Score,” I say to Deb, the other part-time waitress on shift with me. She high fives me as we go our separate directions, me to the bus stop and her to her car. She honks a cheerful goodbye as she passes, heading for home.

            Sarah is gone by the time I reach our apartment. It’s probably only around eight, but she’d mentioned something earlier about going to a friend’s to get ready. Showering only takes a few minutes, so I decide to let my hair air-dry. Sarah wouldn’t like it, but at least it’s not in a pony. I play a few rounds of Freecell while I wait for the clock to tick down.

            On my desk, my phone jumps. It’s a dinosaur of a phone. Every text message makes it freak out like the apocalypse is coming. I snatch it before it can vibrate again and flip it open. It’s from Sarah. R U coming?

            Yeah, be there in a few, I text back with a sigh. It’s go time.

…

            “This place is sure hopping,” I say as I finally find Sarah scrunched up on a couch placed inexplicably in the kitchen. It blocks access to the refrigerator, but not the all-important freezer, where the booze is stacked haphazardly. As I watch, a guy opens the door, catching the bottle that falls out with a practiced ease.

            “It’s early, don’t worry about it,” she replies. “I can’t believe you actually came!”

            “I said I would, wouldn’t I?”

            “Yeah, but you’ve said that before. Hey, c’mon, I want you to meet someone!” She jumps from the couch and nearly yanks my arm off as she tows me toward the living room, where the music is almost too loud to hear anything. A few people are standing about, mingling, but they ignore us as we pass through towards the front door.

            Once we’re outside, she lets go of my hand. “David, over here!” she shouts, waving at a guy in jeans and a Tool shirt. He is with a group of friends who are all smoking Marlboros and holding sketchy red Solo cups, sometimes talking and sometimes not. He nods in our direction, but doesn’t leave his friends.

            “Let’s go,” Sarah says impatiently, and walks towards the group without checking to see if I’m following. I do.

            “Hey, Babe,” David says, sliding his arm around Sarah’s shoulders. She giggles and leans into the embrace and I think of poor Hugh, who was probably dumped a few hours ago. “I was just talking about you.”

            “I hope you weren’t scaring anyone,” Sarah replies with an easy laugh. The others follow suit. “This is my roommate Emry.”

            There is a chorus of “hey”s and “Nice to meet you”s. I smile, but don’t say anything beyond an initial “hello”.

“We were talking about the rally on Thursday,” David says. “We’ve got a caravan going to drive to New York City and we’re going to pool our money for the gas. Plan is to meet in front of the Stock Exchange and slowly work our way into city transit. You down?”

            Sarah is delighted. “Of course! I was just trying to get my ex to go with me!”

            The friends grin. “Sweet!” a girl says. Her right ear is pierced at least a dozen times. She flicks her cigarette but into the bushes next to her. “We’ve been trying to get a huge group. Occupy Interstate Eighty!” she jokes. Everyone laughs.

            Sarah looks at me. “Want to come Emry? It’ll be fun! New York’s only like what, hundred miles?”

            “About a hundred fifty,” David corrects. “With all five of us, it should only cost twelve bucks or so.”

            Everyone is looking at me expectantly, with varying smiles on their faces. Sarah’s is hopeful, David’s wide and sure. Ear Piercings is giving me a “what are you waiting for” look, and the other two, a guy with sandy blonde hair and a girl with a perpetual scowl just raised their eyebrows, twin looks of expectancy.

            “I can’t,” I say. “I have an exam in the afternoon, and I have to work after that.”

            They all groan as one. “Can’t you get the day off?” Sarah asks pleadingly. “I already asked Midge and she said to go for it.” Midge is her boss at the coffee stand on campus.

            “I’m covering for Deb,” I explain.

            “Bitch,” Sarah mutters faithfully. “Can’t even give you a ride home after work and now she jumps the gun on the biggest day in history. Seriously, Emry, why do you let her walk all over you like that?”

            I don’t let Deb walk all over me, but this is an old argument. I remain silent.

            “Man, you have a job?” the blonde dude asks. “I’ve been applying since like, August, and I still can’t seem to get hired. All the openings on the school’s job listing site get filled before I manage to get to them.”

            “You should try some of the places downtown,” Sarah pipes in helpfully. “It’s easier to get a job if you go in person to check them out.”

            “Yeah, but it still isn’t enough to pay the bills.”

            “Fucking corporates,” the scowling girl says. “Root of all our problems, I say. After the seventeenth, though, they’ll be singing a different tune!”

            “Amen sistah,” says Ear Piercings, raising her Solo cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

…

            For the rest of the week, David is over almost every day. He brings with him Ear Piercings (whose actual name is Amber), scowling girl (Trista), and Sandy Blonde (Daniel Eureka, though his friends call him Hoover). They’re scheming for their trip, making signs and slogans on Walmart brand poster board. They research signs from other protests and try to get creative. Sarah posts a bunch of those pictures of herself holding a note on Facebook. Her latest one reads, “I am a 21-yr-old college student pursuing a BS in psychology. It costs me 7.5k per year to attend my chosen school. I sit in lecture for 18 hrs per week and I study for 2 hrs per class per day. I am paid $290 per month, which doesn’t cover my tuition and bills by half. I am the 99%. Occupywallstreet.org”.

            I tried telling her on Monday that her sign shouldn’t count because her parents are paying her tuition and bills, but she told me it didn’t matter. School is a full-time job, and she does that and has a part time job on the side, and still doesn’t make as much money as the top one percent.

            “You should be agreeing with me,” she added. “You’re affected most of all by the one percenters! I still can’t believe you aren’t going.”

            “Some of us don’t have time to waste on rallies,” I countered, offended that she thought she could dictate my opinions. Sarah doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the day.

            On Thursday, I am woken up earlier than usual by raucous laughter in the living room. I open my bedroom door blearily to see Sarah and her friends jumping on the couch and firing those party poppers at each other, laughing gleefully.

            “Almost time!” Hoover says loudly, grinning.

            Sarah is laughing, and doesn’t notice me glaring in the doorway. Last night I’d been up late studying for my test, which she knew very well.

            “God, it’s early,” Amber says. “I vote a Starbucks stop on the way out!” This was followed by cheers.

            Suddenly David sees me. “Oh shit, sorry Emry. Did we wake you up?”

            It’s obvious that they did, so I ignore him and head for the bathroom. I hear muttering behind me, and Sarah’s voice on top of everyone else saying, “Don’t worry about her. She has to get up in twenty minutes anyway. A few extra minutes of wakefulness can’t hurt her. Emry!” she calls down the hallway. “Want some coffee? We’ll bring you back a cup to make up for waking you if you want!”

            “No thanks!” I call back, and shut the bathroom door.

            After a few minutes, the noise picks back up as they get ready to leave. “Don’t forget your iPod!” someone calls. “We need tunes for the ride!” Someone else makes a joke I can’t hear and they all laugh. The door slams behind them.

When I come out into the living room, the carefully crafted signs that read “WE ARE THE 99%. OCCUPY WALL STREET” and “WALL STREET AND CORPORATIONS HAVE CORRUPTED POLITICAL PROGRESS” have disappeared. My favorite was the one that said “THAT WE’RE YOUNG ONLY MEANS WE HAVE THE MOST TO LOSE BY STANDING IDLE.” It too is gone, stowed away in the back of David’s Honda Civic.
            Grumpy and tired, I use Sarah’s KitchenAid to brew some of her Safeway Select French vanilla coffee, deciding that she owes me for the abrupt wakeup. If she notices, I’ll tell her it’s cheaper than her buying me a coffee from Starbucks and driving it all the way back here.

            With a slight eye-roll at my now-peaceful apartment, I hop in the shower to get ready for my day.

            Sarah texts me at noon. OMG look @ FB. Just posted pics of D & me!

            It’s my lunch break so she knows I’ll be in the library, doing some last-minute studying. She let me borrow her Macbook for the day, so I reluctantly pulled it out of my backpack and opened it to her Facebook homepage. Sarah and David are taking up the entire top half of her news feed with pictures of them shouting and cheering, holding a sign together. They are surrounded by other protesters. Underneath the pictures the caption says “Sent from my iPhone”.

            She’s also posted minute-by-minute updates to Twitter. I only have a few minutes to spare to read them, but I do. One says she wishes her bestie was there with her.

            Sounds like fun, I text back, and turn my phone off. I need to get back to studying. I power off her Macbook and slip it back into my bag. Time to get to work.