Oil Spill

Chapter 2 Interveiw

Aceite cautiously entered a large building, practically bolting to the front desk.

"I'm here for an interview, am I too late?" Aceite asked out of breath. The lady slowly looked up at the exhausted boy, and asked in a calm tired voice, "Name?"

"Aceite Lilpson." Aceite responded quickly, straightening himself. The lady looked to her computer and typed something.

"You're nearly twenty minutes late," She stated plainly. Aceite nodded.

"Yes, I know, can I still get in?" Aceite asked hopefully,

"If you run boy." She spoke. Aceite nodded and ran. He marched up the stairs, turning down the hall, and hoping the signs were still true. He finally came to a door, trying to catch his breath,

"S...Sir...?" Aceite asked, knocking.

"Come in," answered a deep voice. Aceite twisted the door nob and entered. It was a small room with a large man at a desk, with a scowling eye. He seemed like the kind of guy that beats you up in the streets. "Who are you?" The man asked, seeming to size up Aceite.

"Aceite Lilpson, Sir," Aceite said hoping his nervousness didn't show.

"What? Who let you in? You look ten." The man said, staying where he was with his menacing glare. Aceite shifted uncomfortably,

"Sixteen, sir. I'm here for the interview, sir." Aceite clarified,

"You're late, what's your excuse?" The man asked, Aceite felt a glimmer of hope, maybe he'd be pardoned. "My rental car froze, I had to ask a passer-by for help. Then I returned it and biked here sir." The man raised an eyebrow, and shrugged, "A little young, but I try to avoid judging by looks. Tell me, why do you want this position?" Aceite took a quick breath,

"I am calm and well-mannered. I have a good memory, and great stamina. I am determined and always looking to do my best at everything." The man nodded,

"I see. If all this is true, why a waiter? Why not bigger?" Aceite hesitated.

"Everyone starts somewhere. If I start as a waiter, I have something to go off. I can say, 'yeah. I tried that.' Then move on to greater things once I have the proper knowledge," Aceite answered,

"What are your 'plans'? What's next, what's bigger?" Aceite hesitated again, why did he have so many questions? This is a minimum wage job!

"I was going to see what I was best at; I was hoping maybe a plumber. Even a..." Aceite frowned. What did he want? "Whatever I'm good at." He repeated distantly. The man got up and approached Aceite. Aceite gave him a worried-confident look. The man extended a hand and said,

"I hope you figure it out kid. For now, your hired. Start at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow. Don't be late. Stop by the printer in the next room for your time sheet." Aceite took the man's hand and shook it.

"Thank you, sir." Aceite said turning to leave,

"Simarli. That's my name." Aceite simply nodded and walked to get his time sheet.

Aceite woke up the next day at five, grabbing a lunch, and pedaling to his work. He pedaled to a different building than before. He got off his bike and entered the building, a little disappointed by the interior, though glad it wasn't to complex. He saw a uniform folded up on the counter and went to it. It had a note that said: "Aceite" on it, so he took it. He slipped into the bathroom and put his new uniform on. He came out and looked in the mirror. He stared at his black-brown hair, tired blue-gray eyes, and slim build. He noticed the strange uniform, like a suit, but it made him look intellect, he figured glasses would get him beat-up. He was quickly grateful for his eyesight. He stepped out of the bathroom, taking a good look around, unsure what to do. He went to the back to ask the chef, but he wasn't there. Aceite panicked, there was no cook. Aceite looked around, maybe he was in a freezer? He heard the door open and went to see who it was. A short lady stood in the doorway, Aceite stared at her trying to distinguish the woman.