The snob factory is real

It started out as a normal Monday morning. Approximately 10:45 a.m., the clock on the wall said. I was at The Eatery, one of my favourite low-economy restaurants, with its quaint décor and inviting ambience, unable to buy even a $60 cookie from its snack counter.

I was sifting through the classifieds, a weekly ritual, when a pretty, svelte young woman, who looked like an urban professional, walked over and asked, “Can I sit with you?”

She sounded friendly enough, so I said, “Yes.” Then she asked, “Are you Alena Shore, commonly called Lena?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised. “How do you know that?”

“We’ve been observing you.”

“What?!” I almost jumped out of my seat as surprise gave way to even more surprise. “Who’s been watching me?” I said, more than a little creeped out.

“Hi, I’m Judith Beckford, and I’m from the Snob Factory, an elite club that promotes excellence and has existed for centuries.”

“The Snob Factory is real? I thought that was a legend.”

“We tried to keep it a secret, but I guess the secret has been out for some time now,” she laughed. “We want you to join us.”

“Me, join you? Why me? How? What? I mean...” I rambled on, still confused.

“One of your lecturers, and one of our long-time members, thought they saw great promise in you. They referred you to us, and we have been watching your progress ever since.”

“How is that possible? Who is he... she?” I said, curiosity getting the better of me.

“It’s a he, and he’s dead now. That’s all you need to know.”

“Do you mean Professor Isaacs?”

“It’s not my place to tell.”

“Why me?”

“He saw excellence in you and thought you needed a little push to reach your full potential.”

“Well... wow,” I said, still taking it all in.

“Alena, be here tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. sharp.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No joke, Alena. Be here at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

“I can’t, even if I wanted to. I don’t have enough money to come tomorrow.”

She then reached into an elegant handbag, took out an even more elegant purse, and placed a crisp $5,000 bill and a card in my hand. “Here’s my card and here’s bus fare. Now you have money. Be here tomorrow, 10:00 a.m. sharp.”

“Umm... it’s very generous of you, but sorry, I can’t take this,” I said, backing away and giving back the money.

“Alena Tiffany Shore!” she said sternly. “You’re 27 now, and you’ll be 30 in two years and four months. Do you want to be another bright, talented female who falls by the wayside? Do you still want barely skimming minimum-wage pay as a salary, more abusive bosses, and contempt as work experience? Don’t you want a husband, your own home, and children someday? If your answer to all these questions is yes, then what’s the problem? Your lecturer saw greatness in you. Do you see it?!”

She trembled, practically shouting, causing some of the other customers in the restaurant to look around to see what was happening.

I was dumbstruck and couldn’t think of a peep to say after that speech. I could see her passion and belief in me as she sat there, still shaking.

“Be here at 10:00 a.m. sharp. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Miss,” I said meekly. I took the money and the card and said, “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” she said with finality, gave me a few more encouraging words, then left.

When I was alone, I soliloquised, “The Snob Factory is real, and they chose me,” I said in my stupor. I then went to the snack bar, bought an orange juice and two patties, and sated my hunger.

The next morning, I was at The Eatery, just as Judith had said. But even at 10:40 a.m., she was not there. Then I looked up, and I saw what I thought to be the most handsome young man I had ever seen walk towards my table.

He extended his hand, and at first I did not know what to do. Then he said, “Hi, I’m Nicholas McKinley. Something sudden came up, and Judith had to leave the island, so I came in her place. You’re Alena Shore, I presume.”

“Yes, I’m Alena.” I finally shook his hand and was met by the softest hand I had ever felt on a man.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked.

“We at the Snob Factory have our ways.”

“Y’all are starting to sound like the CIA or something.”

“Nothing that drastic.”

When he was seated, I asked once again, “So why me?” needing more, somehow, than Judith’s explanation.

“The Snob Factory is an elite club, and our members are chosen by a reference system. You came highly recommended by one of our members, who thought they saw great potential and promise in you. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

He then handed me what looked like an ATM card and said, “Carry this card with you everywhere you go, and you’ll also need an ID card once we take care of your look. Your Snob Factory Reference Card has a special reference number unique only to you. Carry it with you wherever you go, and tomorrow meet me here again and we will doll you up for your photoshoot and your ID card.”

“Did you have anything to eat?” he queried.

“Yes, two beef patties and a drink.”

“We’ll have to change that to a power patty, but that’s for another time.

“This is the beginning of a great future, Alena Shore. The Snob Factory will take you places, have you see different cultures, meet different people, and fulfil all the dreams you had that you were not able to achieve in your once-limited world. Think about what I said. Meet me here at 10:00 a.m. sharp tomorrow and we will begin the induction. And remember to always bring your card.”

With that, he shook my hand once again, and like Judith, he also left quickly.

I was excited. Suddenly, my life didn’t seem like it was not going anywhere after all. The Snob Factory had already taken hold of me. It was becoming all too real. And I remembered Nicholas’ words: “And the rest, as they say, is history.”