«Chance. Chance decides everything. I’ve heard that from many who are convinced of it. And you may think that chance is something great. But it’s just chance. Chance decides whether you’re rich or poor, happy or unhappy, alive or dead. But it’s just chance.
One hot morning, Kira was riding the bus to get a job at his new workplace. He comes upon an ad, handwritten and attached ineptly that it even flew off the pole. Kira walks into a small diner, uncolored and not fully decorated, in fear. He is greeted by an old woman and escorted to an office. Kira walks into the room. A man of about thirty-five sits there:
– Hello, you may sit down.
– Hello, Mr…?
– You’re here because of an ad. We’re looking for new employees. I’ve been looking for new staff for half a year. You’re not deterred by the state of the building, and if you’re here, I have two questions for you: who’s your father, and your worst failure in life?
Kira, caught off guard and already nervous, says whatever comes to mind:
– «O-he-he. I don’t know him and I’m from an orphanage. I don’t know my parents. And secondly, I couldn’t get into university.
– Why not?
– I didn’t study enough.
– Well, there you are. You’ve been accepted. You’ll be a waiter. Ten percent of the café’s profits will be yours. Ms. Camilton, eureka! You can start tomorrow. Be here at six o’clock, fresh and awake, and you can leave now.
– Thank you. Have a good day. Have a good day, Mr. – ?
– You can just call me Albert, son.
Kira leaves the building, goes to her rented apartment thinking: Why do I need this unprofitable job and such a strange boss?
But he shows up at six. A little earlier. The workers were making repairs. They were almost done. Not much left. They must have been working hard. And from a crumbling diner to an upscale cafe. How could they talk the workers into this?
– Hey, son. I want you to familiarize yourself with your workstation. Here are two tables. You’ve been a waiter before? It’s a beautiful job. Let me teach you how to do it.
Albert started showing me how to present myself. All the mechanics of speech and body movements. Taught you the menu. The workers, meanwhile, were finished. Albert paid up.
– Albert, can you tell me how you got them to work at night?
– The money spoke for itself. I’ve taken out two loans and owe the bank a high interest rate. We have no choice but to work hard. Now get up to your desk, son. We’re opening!
Albert started the music on the tape recorder. Ms. Camilton stood behind the cash register. Kira made his way to his seat. Eeee. No one. For a week.
– Ms. Heming.
– You can just call her Cammy, grandson.
– Tell me about your story and Albert.
