Dreams from a popcorn seller

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Chapter fourteen: Making money

There had to be a way to make more money.

There were no more ingredients to make lemonade, so I ha to earn some money another way. I was going to get a job.

I considered the choices. There was being a waitress or a chef, which didn’t require much training. I could babysit, although I had no experience with that. In the end, I chose to be a waitress.

Since I had no money for lessons, I walked around looking for a café or something. After a while, I spotted a QuickBurger's burger restaurant beside a mall.

I went in and the smell hit me. I had never been in this place before and I never wanted to go in again.

The smell was awful. It was a smell mixed of dead fish and herbs. Together those smells were burning a hole in the floor.

I tried to breath through my mouth as I asked a waiter where the manager was. He disappeared into the kitchen and came out with a man that had a spiky haircut and round glasses.

“Hello sir.” I said. “My name is Rosanna and I want to apply for a job here.”

I used my fake name. Better be safe than sorry. What if Mr. Gone came here to eat and then somehow he figured out that I was working here?

The manager chuckled. “Work here, eh? Aren’t you a little too young to be working here?”

I got mad then. I was very tired from people calling me too young.

“I’m 18. I have graduated from high school and I may look short but I swear I am old enough.”

The manager sighed. “Fine. Whatever. We could use a dishwasher anyways.”

“Whoa, I was applying to be a waitress.”

“We have enough of those.” The manager said. “We need a dishwasher.”

“But…”

“Take it or leave it, kid.” He said.

“Fine.” I said.

“Great. You get ten dollars for every hour you work. Now start now.”

It was a good deal. Every day I could work for two hours and then that would be enough to pay for my lessons.

The unfortunate side of it was the job itself.

I had to start immediately. The manager, who’s name was Mr. Thorn, have me a pair of gloves and an apron that was smudged with stuff that I didn’t want to know the name of.

The kitchen was horrible. It was humid and the smell was worse there, if that was possible. The dishwater was dirty and extremely hot. The kitchen was so crowded and there was no fan or air conditioner. I had to suffer through that every day for two hours.

Lessons were getting better. I went to work in the morning and then came back after lunch for lessons. I ate at QuickBurger every day, which was not very nice. I will not describe the food because it will make you lose your appetite for days.

One day I was in the kitchen, washing a very large pile of dishes when the kitchen door swung open. I gasped.

It was Mr. Gone.

“Well, this is where all the magic happens!” his voice boomed all over the kitchen. Everybody stopped their work and looked at him in surprise.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” He said. “I just want to speak to your—er, charming dishwasher here.” He put a hand on my shoulder and dragged me out of the room.

As soon as we were out on the sidewalk he gave me a dirty look.

“Hello again, Viola.

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