The Other Side of Greed (The Seven Sins #5) - Lily Zante Page 0,3
quickly empties out a big pan into the serving platter.
We do this every Wednesday night; provide food for the homeless and hungry. It’s something that Redhill, the company I run, decided to do when the factory was up and running, and started to become successful. We make blankets, sleeping bags and clothes for homeless people. They’re made from lightweight insulated waterproof material and are easy to roll up and put into a bag without taking up a lot of space.
They are made by homeless people and victims of domestic abuse which I hire from homeless shelters. The food program was born out of Redhill’s mission that every person deserves to live a good life; has enough to eat, has a place to live and has some type of employment.
Simona says I’m not content until I’ve fixed the world’s problems, and then she tells me I can’t. But I can try.
The evening goes on without drama. Everyone is obedient and grateful. They thank us for everything we give them as they go down the line. I put a couple of scoopfuls of pasta into polystyrene boxes and Simona adds a few slices of bread. The other servers add in fruit, crackers, bags of chips and cereal bars. Fredrich takes care of the drinks. There are plenty of water bottles to be handed out and there are also urns for tea and coffee.
On another table, we have other necessary items. Sometimes it’s women’s sanitary products or warm items for the winter. As it’s summer here, those aren’t needed as much, but we have sleeping bags and tents, and a few items of clothing. It depends on what our funds can buy.
“We’ve got two more pots of pasta left,” Fredrich informs me.
I eye the line which is about one hundred deep. “It should be enough.”
He nods. Gargantuan, with hair as wild as Hagrid’s, he’s a tattooed sweetie pie and the best IT person I could have ever asked for. He joined the company and was one of my first employees, along with Simona, my second mother.
Redhill has quickly become one of Chicago’s fastest growing nonprofit organizations. My brainchild, that’s what the media refers to it as when they want to butter me up in an attempt to interview me or to get me on their shows. I don’t have time for such things, and I don’t trust organizations, per se, but I’m aware that I need publicity to help spread the word. Though I am secretly pleased that we’ve done amazingly well without going out and courting attention.
Over the next hour, we manage to feed everyone. They tend not to hang around for too long. Some eat quickly, hovering around the serving table, and sometimes they come back for a second helping, which we always give them. Others take the food away. They return back to the streets. Some stay overnight at the homeless shelter, but at least we know they’ve had a hot meal.
They come here every week to the makeshift area we’ve set up. It’s a stone’s throw from the factory, in the wide-open square at the back. This also makes it easier for us to keep a list of the food items in our store room.
Everything is laid out and cleared away with military precision. There’s a small core team of about ten helpers, and everyone brings something. Tables, food, cleaning supplies and disposable food service gloves which we use to serve the food.
Doing this grounds me. It makes me feel humble and grateful for all that I have.
“I hate to think what would happen if we ever had to move,” grumbles Simona when we start to pack things away at the end.
“We’re never going to move.” I heft a box of unopened crackers and start to head towards our rickety old van.
We have a good group of shop and business owners here. Some businesses have folded over time, but we’ve held strong. The area was on its way down a few years ago—which was how I was able to buy the factory building outright, and then grants and funding helped me to set up the business. The buildings around here might look like eyesores from the outside, but inside they are solid. They might not have state-of-the-art interiors, but they are fully functional.
The area has slowly been changing. Over the years, we’ve had our fair share of letters from big-ass property development companies wanting us to move. They’ve offered tempting compensation packages but they haven’t managed to persuade us.