Cotton Boy loves money, loves dreamingand loves to be rich; he prefers just floating up in a clear blue sky and letting the wind blow him along with the snow white clouds restlessly. The mild breeze, the spectacular sunshine and the chirping sound from birds are the adorns and garnishes while Cotton Boy is laying on top of a vast piece of cuddly cotton clouds, lapping his cotton candy with his eye close harmoniously. In contrast, Cotton Boy hates working hard with tiny rewards and hates toiling all day for just a few dollars.
Yet a dream is a pure dream, reality is always cruel and merciless. When you turn your piggy bank upside down, shake it crazily to trickle every single gold coin out of it. I get panic when the piggy is losing weight progressively. “I have to find a solution. Get a job, maybe two or even more whatever I can sustain,” I declared with my head held high.
After couple months of frenzied search, I obtained 3 part-time jobs. One of the jobs which I am conducting is being a cashier at a nationwide drugs and pharmacy chain store. It sells everything as if I was amidst a flea market, surrounded by hundreds of people looking for laurels. I greet customers robotically, scan the check out items and listen to all the bullshit matters from numerous insane people. Yesterday at around 7 pm, a brawny woman in her 40’s stood in front of me, demanding something with a deep coarse voice, “I need a Big lighter.” First, I thought what a weird request she had. Any sizes of lighters can ignite a cigarette, right? However, as the old proverb states “customers are always right”, I kept my mouth shut. I turned around, found and handed her the biggest lighter in the store. She was speechless first, then opened her hippopotamus mouth with a front tooth missing, “No, Big! Big! Big!” Her dark grimed second finger was pointing at the location where we displayed various kinds of lighters. I swiveled instantly and grabbed a bunch of different sizes of lighters and enabled her to choose. “No, no, no. Big! Big! Big!” she exclaimed. I was clueless and in a split second, I got it. She wanted to purchase a lighter produced by the manufacturer, called “BIC.” I scanned the item, collected the money and said, “Have a good night!”
As soon as she waddled out the door, I sighed. “Why don’t they make things a little bit easier to a foreigner by saying, “May I have a lighter which its brand name is “BIC”?” Then, all the misunderstandings can be resolved. Amen!
