Chapter 2

The second complaint about me was about disrupting public order. The person who reported me claimed that my food truck had blocked the alley outside the hospital.

Before the authorities from the Department of Consumer Affairs arrived, I moved my food truck about 70 feet away. I parked it against the wall of an abandoned area. It was remote and farther from the Inpatient Department.

I posted a note on my live stream: [Please register in advance and pick up your meal on time. Limited to one meal per person to avoid long queues.]

Laney watched as I cut out the numbers in advance. "You're serious about making the change?"

"It's better to avoid trouble as much as possible."

That afternoon, my customers came in three groups, and the entrances and exits were clear the rest of the day. Larry gave me a thumbs up when he passed by my truck. "Now, no one can pick a bone with you."

The moment he said this, a vehicle from the Department of Consumer Affairs parked in the alleyway. An officer got out with a picture on his phone, sounding sterner than he did before. "Someone reported you for creating a crowd outside the hospital and disrupting public order."

I pointed at a yellow line on the ground. "The queue for my truck did not go past the line, and no one was blocking the entrances or exits of the hospital. You're more than welcome to check the security cameras."

They checked the cameras and found that I did not block any pathways or cause disruption with long queues. I took pictures of the site and the footage from the security cameras. It was not to prove that I was right, but to prove my innocence to the authorities if they did not check the cameras the next time they were here.

The officers sounded helpless before they left. "We have to follow procedure, Mr. Curtis."

"I understand."

After that, I flung my order numbers into a paper box but clenched my fists.

On the third day, a third complaint was submitted. This time, it was more serious than the ones before. "The owner of that truck doesn't have a license to operate a food business and isn't hygienic. Who is going to be responsible when the owner has no experience with manning a food truck?"

The authorities arrived at noon. By that time, most of the people in the queue were gone. A woman with a baby in her arms stood where she was, clutching her takeaway box. She whispered a question to me, "Can we still buy your food?"

"Sure, you can."

I opened up the fridge in my food truck to show them the temperature record, proof of receipt for my vegetables, quality certification for my meat products, and the health certification for Laney and me. I also showed them all our certifications of quality for the disinfectant pills and takeaway boxes we used.

The authorities checked them one by one, as I handed them each one.

Laney looked pale as she stood by our soup container, but the results came out very soon. Our ingredients were up to par, and our operations were according to standard procedures.

The authorities stamped our records. "There isn't any problem found here."

Everyone eventually returned to the queue. The woman with the baby in her arms came up to us and said in a whisper, "Please give me two sets. My husband has been admitted to the hospital."

I put the food together for her and did not accept any payment, but Laney was not easy to convince. When we were doing dinner prep, she slammed a stack of bills on the table. "Look at this."

"What's wrong?"

"We wasted 41 portions this afternoon because of the sudden inspection. We cooked the meat and the vegetables, but we were forced to throw away half the pot."

"Let's just do the same portions tomorrow."

"Again?"

"I'll make up for the loss."

Laney stared at me for a long time before turning to prep the ingredients.

When we received the fourth complaint, the comments on the live stream blew up. Someone shared a picture of me passing a takeaway box to a patient with the caption: [Taking pictures of suffering patients and charging them $2 just to gain followers. Anyone who donates to them is being fleeced.]

The comments were brutal.

[They're helping poor people to exploit them for content.]

[People like that are such fakers.]

[Let's find out how much money he's making from livestreaming this.]

I directed the camera toward the receipts at the back. I made $217 in seven days. Laney glanced at it. It was not even enough to make a huge pot of soup.

The comments section was silent for several seconds before my followers burst out angrily.

[Who knows if he has another account to take payment?]

I suddenly found everything ridiculous, and I took down my phone to turn off the camera.

Laney asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm turning it off."

"Aren't you going to livestream this?"

"Nope."

After the screen turned dark, only the sound of vegetable chopping could be heard in the air. Laney and I were still busy preparing the ingredients at 2:00 am.

Laney held the calculator and clicked on it for a long time. "We've made a loss of $11,000 this month. How long are we supposed to keep this up, Brody?"

I stopped chopping and placed the last of the vegetables in a basin. "I'm just worried that some people might not have anything to eat."

After that, I glanced at the takeaway boxes that had just arrived. They suddenly looked sore to my eye.

I opened my accounting book and recorded the loss I made that day. My revenue was $327, but the cost was $614.

Laney asked me again, "Do you really want to continue doing this?"

When I did not reply, she sighed. "Fine. Pretend I never asked you that question."