Iâve got a few responses from some interviews last week. Nothing very promising. Oh well. Never give up. Thatâs my motto.
I print out a few more copies of my résumé. Then I wait in line to pay for them.
The Asian lady leaves. Then itâs my turn.
âHi,â Yolanda says. Real friendly. She leans forward, rests her chin on her hand. âHow are you today?â
âReal good,â I say. Then I swallow hard and decide to go for it. What the heck? Iâve been wanting to talk to this girl for weeks. Itâs not gonna happen unless I make it happen.
âDid I just hear you speaking Chinese?â I ask.
She smiles.
âYes, you did,â she says. âMandarin, actually.â
âAndâ¦you speak Mandarin why ?â
âMy mom is Chinese. I grew up speaking to her in Mandarin and to my dad in English.â
âYouâre kidding,â I say. âSo, youâre half Chinese and half black?â
âYup.â
âWow. Thatâs quite a mix.â
âSure is,â she says.
âMe, Iâm half black and half white,â
I tell her.
âAre those copies everything for today?â
Uh-oh. Maybe Iâve gone too far. She doesnât want to talk about this. Iâm just one more customer, being too nosy. Better make a joke, then leave on a high note.
âBeing mixed race sure can be interesting,â I say. âI remember one time, I was in a store with my moms. The guy behind the counter whispers to her, âDid you know thereâs a black guy following you around?â And she goes, âYeah, heâs my son.ââ
Yolanda laughs at that. Her teeth are perfect, like two rows of polished gems.
âYour mom is white?â she says.
âShe passed away a little while ago.â
âIâm sorry to hear that.â
I give her a small bill from my precious stash. I carry my money on me at all times, in a big roll. This is partly for security. I donât trust banks. And itâs partly because I like to flash a wad from time to time. Itâs a good way to impress people. Because would Yolanda be talking to me if she knew I was homeless? No way.
Yolanda gives me my change.
âYou want something to put those copies in?â she says.
âSure,â I say.
She slides them into a paper bag. But first, I notice she peeks at them.
âRésumés, huh?â she says.
âYeah. Iâm doinâ the job-hunt thing.â
âWhat kind of job are you looking for?â
âFinance,â I say. âAnything to do with finance. Thatâs my field.â
âImpressive,â she says, smiling again.
âThanks,â I say. And then, before I even know what Iâm doing, I say, âIâd love to take you out to dinner sometime. I think weâd have a lot of fun. What do you say?â
She looks at me like she canât believe what she just heard. I canât believe it either. I wasnât even planning on asking. It just slipped out.
âDinner?â she says, real casual. âSure.
When?â
I make a big show of looking up at the ceiling, like Iâm running through dates in my head. Then I smile.
âTonight?â I say.
She shrugs.
âOkay,â she says. âLet me write my address down for you.â
CHAPTER THREE
O nly after I leave the postal center do I realize what Iâve done. Iâve committed to picking Yolanda up in seven hours. But thereâs no way I can let her see my car. Not in the shape itâs in. I have to clean it.
But first, I have to find someplace to put my stuff. And I still have my daily rounds to make. The world doesnât stop just because I have a date. I still need a job. Iâm going to have to hurry to get everything done in time.
I go through the same routine, knocking on doors, sitting through interviews. But itâs the same old story. Either I donât have enough education, or