The QuckPort
The story that follows has been bubbling away in my (i.e., fansee's) mind for several months now, until I had to write it down. It is definitely AU and may be so AU as to turn the corner into AR. However alternate the reality you find here, I think you will find Brian and Justin still in-character; I hope so, anyway. Enjoy!
"What the fuck is that ugly thing sitting on my counter-top?"
"It's a QuckPort, Brian."
"No, it's not."
Justin didn't argue. He just shrugged.
"We got one at the office. It's 11" by 17"…not a butt-ugly little…."
"Eight inch square cube," Justin said.
"…like this thing."
Justin looked interested. "I didn't know you'd gotten a QuckPort for Kinnetik. What for?"
"We Port graphics, but only when we have to meet a tight deadline and the client can't be reached in time any other way." Brian's eyes narrowed. "So we don't use it often, which is a good thing, considering the cost per Port and the power drain. How the hell much did you spend for this monstrosity? And what the fuck are you going to use it for?"
"It's from the IFS."
Brian looked blank.
"Surely you've seen the commercials for International Food Share?"
"No, I haven't." Brian's voice was emphatic.
"The IFS gives you a QuckPort, you put your left-over food in it, and it gets Ported to someone who otherwise isn't getting enough to eat. I asked for a Hindi family in southern India, and that's who we got."
"And how much did 'we' pay for this?"
"'We' didn't pay anything. I bought it."
"How much?"
"$500."
"Uh-huh. And how much per month?"
"Um…$150. Which I'll pay."
"What the fuck! Why don't you just send these people $150 every month and let them buy their own food?"
Justin shrugged again.
Brian narrowed his eyes. "Fuck! You are sending them money, aren't you?"
"Not exactly," Justin said. He was blushing a little.
"Not exactly? What the hell does that mean?"
"That means that I'm not sending them any money, but I am making a microloan every month through kiva.org. But that's not the point. I just can't fucking stand throwing out food the way we do, not when there are people who need it."
"What food are you talking about? We don't cook, so we don't have left-overs."
"If you cleaned out the refrigerator once in a while, you'd know what food. We carry out and we order in, and we do so have leftovers. What's in that bag you just brought home?"
"Salad Puk and Chicken with Spicy Bamboo Shoot."
"Sounds good. Did they give you rice with it?"
Brian reached in and brought out the traditional paper container with its metal handle.
Justin said, "Leftovers. We won't eat that."
"You'll scarf it down, I'm sure."
"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I've cut back on the carbs. I might eat a quarter of that, maybe, and you won't eat any. The rest gets Ported to this family in Andhra Pradesh…I think that's the name of the state they're in. Not sure. Anyway, the box will fit right in, and it'll Port because it's all natural materials…paper and metal."
"So our rice gets Ported…somewhere. How the fuck do we know it goes to Andy Pra…whatever? When I Port something to Chicago, Miles Wristen picks up the phone and calls me. Does this starving family have a phone?"
"They don't even have electricity. Of course, the power surge is mainly on our end, and on their end, it's solar power. So we can't Port every day, even if we want to. And you know what's going to be fun? Their unit has a little recorder in it, with a camera, and a couple of times a year, we'll get a DVD from them."
"No fuck."
"Look, none of this will involve you. I'll take care of everything. I'll even find a place to store the Port when I'm not using it. Just forget about it."
"Tsk, tsk. Knickers in a twist?"
Justin sighed. "Just let me take care of the Port, O.K?"
Brian nodded, his expression non-committal.
"Good. I'm starving. Get changed so we can eat." There was no point expecting excitement from Brian. Justin would be happy to settle for co-operation.
Three months later:
"Did you see the mail, Brian?"
Brian shook his head without looking up from his laptop.
"We got our first DVD from IFS. C'mon. Watch it with me."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Don't give me that bullshit, Brian. I know you remember. The DVD from the Jonnalagaddas."
Justin popped a little DVD in the player and plopped down on the couch. Brian swung his chair around and watched while the DVD initialized. A picture appeared of a number of people milling around, moving in and out of camera range.
"Is this just the Jongalongas or are we seeing a whole fucking village?"
"I don't know, Brian. There's supposed to be seven of them."
Words appeared on the screen as a voice over-rode the background noise, INTRODUCE YOURSELVES.
A small woman pushed herself forward, bowed and identified herself as 'Gauri.' She waved her hand at the people crowding around her and began reeling off names and relationships so fast that the names were still appearing on the screen after she had stopped speaking. Meanwhile, the people surrounding her were milling around aimlessly, not looking at the camera or waving, so that it was impossible to connect any of the strange names with an individual.
More words appeared on the screen, WHICH FOOD DID YOU LIKE MOST?
"The rice," the woman said, and behind her, heads bobbed in agreement.
WHY?
"There was a lot of it. It came at least every third or fourth day, more than we could eat in one day."
"No wonder they're so skinny," Brian said. "One of those containers split seven ways…I wouldn't expect leftovers."
A younger woman was speaking urgently to Gauri. Gauri turned back toward the camera.
"Bashuli says to say a special thank you for the festival rice."
"Festival rice?" Brian cocked an eyebrow.
Justin shrugged. "Don't know."
"So good with all the vegetables in it."
"Must be the fried rice."
"So that's why you got vegetarian when you know I like the chicken or the pork fried rice."
"I told you: they're vegetarians."
"I know. I just didn't know that meant I could kiss pork fried rice good-bye."
WHAT DIDN'T YOU LIKE?
Gauri looked worried. We liked it all. We liked everything.
There was a pause, then WHAT WAS THE STRANGEST?
Some vegetables in a funny sauce. We had to wash them before we ate them.
"Not sure," Justin muttered under his breath. "We had vegetables in black bean sauce and in green curry and…and in sweet and sour sauce…and I'm sure there were more."
"Look, we just send them our left-overs before they turn into lab experiments in our refrigerator. We don't select our meals based on what the Jonnybonnys want."
Justin nodded and turned his attention back to the video as another question printed out on the screen. This one was about disposing of the containers they received in an environmentally-friendly manner, and it was clear that the environment would be safe for the near future. None of the containers were getting thrown out; the ones the Jonnalagaddas didn't have an immediate use for were being given to neighbors. Glass jars seemed especially popular, but even the newspapers Justin wrapped raw vegetables in were getting scrutinized and passed around.
Then, just as the session was about to end, WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO RECEIVE MORE OF, IF CONVENIENT? appeared on the screen.
All but the two smallest children started to laugh, and Gauri put both hands over her face, her narrow shoulders shaking. The only adult male in the group…Justin guessed it was Gauri's son...pulled a brown bottle off the shelf and held it up proudly, a large grin on his face.
Justin gasped. "Brian…you didn't!"
"Why the fuck not? It didn't say anything about beer being banned. Anyway, there's plenty of calories in beer - it's nutritional."
Gauri was talking animatedly, gesticulating and looking up at the young man. "You and the other men drank almost all of it, too - left the women this much," holding her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "No respect for your mother." Her face crinkled with laughter. "When the second bottle arrived…"
"Second bottle?" Justin said.
"…you and your friends were out working, and it was the women's turn. We left you more."
Her son grinned again. His thumb and finger were two inches apart.
Gauri turned and faced the camera. "Thank you very much. Please send more.
EVERYTHING RECEIVED SHALL BE SHARED EQUITABLY.
Gauri nodded earnestly. "It will be.
Her son moved next to her and nodded his head.
THAT WILL BE ALL FOR NOW. THE NEXT COMMUNICATION WILL BE IN THREE MONTHS.
Justin watched as everyone gave a little bow - little more than the bob of their heads - in the direction of the camera or, more probably, from their point of view, the direction of the voice. Justin barely stopped himself from bowing back. As the screen went blank, he said, "I guess the beer was O.K., but we shouldn't over-do it."
Brian said, "I was thinking of sending them some weed, but I wasn't sure they'd know to smoke it."
"Brian!"
"Maybe if I send them a couple of joints, already rolled, they'll get the idea?"
"Asshole."
******************************************************************
This story has been brewing for a couple of months now, inspired by the intersect of all the food that my granddaughter and I throw away - mostly after it has become a science experiment - and articles like this: Drought Puts Focus on a Side of India Left Out of Progress.
"What the fuck is that ugly thing sitting on my counter-top?"
"It's a QuckPort, Brian."
"No, it's not."
Justin didn't argue. He just shrugged.
"We got one at the office. It's 11" by 17"…not a butt-ugly little…."
"Eight inch square cube," Justin said.
"…like this thing."
Justin looked interested. "I didn't know you'd gotten a QuckPort for Kinnetik. What for?"
"We Port graphics, but only when we have to meet a tight deadline and the client can't be reached in time any other way." Brian's eyes narrowed. "So we don't use it often, which is a good thing, considering the cost per Port and the power drain. How the hell much did you spend for this monstrosity? And what the fuck are you going to use it for?"
"It's from the IFS."
Brian looked blank.
"Surely you've seen the commercials for International Food Share?"
"No, I haven't." Brian's voice was emphatic.
"The IFS gives you a QuckPort, you put your left-over food in it, and it gets Ported to someone who otherwise isn't getting enough to eat. I asked for a Hindi family in southern India, and that's who we got."
"And how much did 'we' pay for this?"
"'We' didn't pay anything. I bought it."
"How much?"
"$500."
"Uh-huh. And how much per month?"
"Um…$150. Which I'll pay."
"What the fuck! Why don't you just send these people $150 every month and let them buy their own food?"
Justin shrugged again.
Brian narrowed his eyes. "Fuck! You are sending them money, aren't you?"
"Not exactly," Justin said. He was blushing a little.
"Not exactly? What the hell does that mean?"
"That means that I'm not sending them any money, but I am making a microloan every month through kiva.org. But that's not the point. I just can't fucking stand throwing out food the way we do, not when there are people who need it."
"What food are you talking about? We don't cook, so we don't have left-overs."
"If you cleaned out the refrigerator once in a while, you'd know what food. We carry out and we order in, and we do so have leftovers. What's in that bag you just brought home?"
"Salad Puk and Chicken with Spicy Bamboo Shoot."
"Sounds good. Did they give you rice with it?"
Brian reached in and brought out the traditional paper container with its metal handle.
Justin said, "Leftovers. We won't eat that."
"You'll scarf it down, I'm sure."
"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I've cut back on the carbs. I might eat a quarter of that, maybe, and you won't eat any. The rest gets Ported to this family in Andhra Pradesh…I think that's the name of the state they're in. Not sure. Anyway, the box will fit right in, and it'll Port because it's all natural materials…paper and metal."
"So our rice gets Ported…somewhere. How the fuck do we know it goes to Andy Pra…whatever? When I Port something to Chicago, Miles Wristen picks up the phone and calls me. Does this starving family have a phone?"
"They don't even have electricity. Of course, the power surge is mainly on our end, and on their end, it's solar power. So we can't Port every day, even if we want to. And you know what's going to be fun? Their unit has a little recorder in it, with a camera, and a couple of times a year, we'll get a DVD from them."
"No fuck."
"Look, none of this will involve you. I'll take care of everything. I'll even find a place to store the Port when I'm not using it. Just forget about it."
"Tsk, tsk. Knickers in a twist?"
Justin sighed. "Just let me take care of the Port, O.K?"
Brian nodded, his expression non-committal.
"Good. I'm starving. Get changed so we can eat." There was no point expecting excitement from Brian. Justin would be happy to settle for co-operation.
Three months later:
"Did you see the mail, Brian?"
Brian shook his head without looking up from his laptop.
"We got our first DVD from IFS. C'mon. Watch it with me."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Don't give me that bullshit, Brian. I know you remember. The DVD from the Jonnalagaddas."
Justin popped a little DVD in the player and plopped down on the couch. Brian swung his chair around and watched while the DVD initialized. A picture appeared of a number of people milling around, moving in and out of camera range.
"Is this just the Jongalongas or are we seeing a whole fucking village?"
"I don't know, Brian. There's supposed to be seven of them."
Words appeared on the screen as a voice over-rode the background noise, INTRODUCE YOURSELVES.
A small woman pushed herself forward, bowed and identified herself as 'Gauri.' She waved her hand at the people crowding around her and began reeling off names and relationships so fast that the names were still appearing on the screen after she had stopped speaking. Meanwhile, the people surrounding her were milling around aimlessly, not looking at the camera or waving, so that it was impossible to connect any of the strange names with an individual.
More words appeared on the screen, WHICH FOOD DID YOU LIKE MOST?
"The rice," the woman said, and behind her, heads bobbed in agreement.
WHY?
"There was a lot of it. It came at least every third or fourth day, more than we could eat in one day."
"No wonder they're so skinny," Brian said. "One of those containers split seven ways…I wouldn't expect leftovers."
A younger woman was speaking urgently to Gauri. Gauri turned back toward the camera.
"Bashuli says to say a special thank you for the festival rice."
"Festival rice?" Brian cocked an eyebrow.
Justin shrugged. "Don't know."
"So good with all the vegetables in it."
"Must be the fried rice."
"So that's why you got vegetarian when you know I like the chicken or the pork fried rice."
"I told you: they're vegetarians."
"I know. I just didn't know that meant I could kiss pork fried rice good-bye."
WHAT DIDN'T YOU LIKE?
Gauri looked worried. We liked it all. We liked everything.
There was a pause, then WHAT WAS THE STRANGEST?
Some vegetables in a funny sauce. We had to wash them before we ate them.
"Not sure," Justin muttered under his breath. "We had vegetables in black bean sauce and in green curry and…and in sweet and sour sauce…and I'm sure there were more."
"Look, we just send them our left-overs before they turn into lab experiments in our refrigerator. We don't select our meals based on what the Jonnybonnys want."
Justin nodded and turned his attention back to the video as another question printed out on the screen. This one was about disposing of the containers they received in an environmentally-friendly manner, and it was clear that the environment would be safe for the near future. None of the containers were getting thrown out; the ones the Jonnalagaddas didn't have an immediate use for were being given to neighbors. Glass jars seemed especially popular, but even the newspapers Justin wrapped raw vegetables in were getting scrutinized and passed around.
Then, just as the session was about to end, WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO RECEIVE MORE OF, IF CONVENIENT? appeared on the screen.
All but the two smallest children started to laugh, and Gauri put both hands over her face, her narrow shoulders shaking. The only adult male in the group…Justin guessed it was Gauri's son...pulled a brown bottle off the shelf and held it up proudly, a large grin on his face.
Justin gasped. "Brian…you didn't!"
"Why the fuck not? It didn't say anything about beer being banned. Anyway, there's plenty of calories in beer - it's nutritional."
Gauri was talking animatedly, gesticulating and looking up at the young man. "You and the other men drank almost all of it, too - left the women this much," holding her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "No respect for your mother." Her face crinkled with laughter. "When the second bottle arrived…"
"Second bottle?" Justin said.
"…you and your friends were out working, and it was the women's turn. We left you more."
Her son grinned again. His thumb and finger were two inches apart.
Gauri turned and faced the camera. "Thank you very much. Please send more.
EVERYTHING RECEIVED SHALL BE SHARED EQUITABLY.
Gauri nodded earnestly. "It will be.
Her son moved next to her and nodded his head.
THAT WILL BE ALL FOR NOW. THE NEXT COMMUNICATION WILL BE IN THREE MONTHS.
Justin watched as everyone gave a little bow - little more than the bob of their heads - in the direction of the camera or, more probably, from their point of view, the direction of the voice. Justin barely stopped himself from bowing back. As the screen went blank, he said, "I guess the beer was O.K., but we shouldn't over-do it."
Brian said, "I was thinking of sending them some weed, but I wasn't sure they'd know to smoke it."
"Brian!"
"Maybe if I send them a couple of joints, already rolled, they'll get the idea?"
"Asshole."
******************************************************************
This story has been brewing for a couple of months now, inspired by the intersect of all the food that my granddaughter and I throw away - mostly after it has become a science experiment - and articles like this: Drought Puts Focus on a Side of India Left Out of Progress.