My Home Is With You [LGBT+]

Three

THE ACCEPTANCE AND REQUEST for an interview comes as a shock a day and a half later.  There are nervous butterflies in my stomach as I read from a website how to prepare for an interview.

I take a deep breath.

And then another.

And another.

Until finally, I suck it up and dress as nice as possible to walk into my interview.

The chain restaurant has been recently renovated and the gust of air-conditioned air makes me shiver as I push open the door.

My steps are slow and uncertain, but I continue on my way to the counter. I can feel how my hands immediately get clammy while my heart beats too fast for my own chest.

The woman at the front is beautiful.  Her dark skin is flawless and complemented well by the red shirt and dark visor holding her braids back.

She barely glances me up and down before pointing to the back and I offer a weak smile and a thanks as I head toward the hidden office.

The door is wide open. Timidly, I peer inside.

"Hi," I greet softly.

"Name's Robert Williams," the man grins wide.

He stands and offers me his outstretched hand. The handshake is firm and his hand is warm in mine as I take it.

"Oseias Lopez," I smile nervously.

He waves vaguely toward an empty chair and I take a seat.

"Alright," Mr. Williams begins straight to business, "Do you have your resume?"

I nod, "Yes."

His eyes skim the paper, dark finger running across the page as his lips mumble the words silently.

"College dropout?"

I nod, biting my bottom lip as he continues, "no previous work experience?"

I know he won't judge me, many people who come here looking for a job don't have much experience to begin with.

"Tell me, why should I consider you for this position?"

"My major was mathematics, and I passed the classes I took with A's and B's which can be very beneficial when ringing up a customer. I've also worked as a volunteer in the NPHS Canuck Store as a cashier, so I have experience dealing with customers of various ages," I explain shakily, "I consider myself responsible and dedicated to my work and I'd also be opened to be cross-trained for the kitchen as well."

"Alright," he nods, "I'm sold."

I stare at the manager in surprise, "Really?"

"Of course!" No further explanation, "We can discuss how much and how often you will be paid."

"Yes, please," I agree.

"You'll start off getting paid a little less than $10 an hour, we can arrange how many hours you'll work as you get used to the workload," he continues, "and pay is biweekly, in other words every two weeks."

"Thank you," I breathe, "thank you, thank you so much Mr. Williams!"

He offers me a small genuine smile, "Call me Robert. You can start Friday."

With a small sense of accomplishment, I shake the man's hand and leave with my papers clutched to my chest. I realize that even if I work full-time, it won't be nearly enough to pay rent and buy food. I can survive skipping a few meals, but I know that I need to get more money. And in order to do so I need to find something else.