You Can't Break Her

Chapter eighteen : part sixteen | November

November 2008
Nevland, British Columbia

I met with the new employee on a calm weathered night. We were introduced by our manager and set up to work the drive-through. The man I was ordered to train was quiet.

I tried to give him instruction, and that's when he spoke in another language. I have only ever spoken English and lived in areas that had bilingual people, but they were already well versed in both languages.

I handed him a spray bottle and a rag and made a wiping motion with my hand across the counter. He watched and then nodded.

I walked toward the back of the store to confront my manager about the situation.

"He doesn't speak English."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I can't train someone who doesn't speak the same language as me!"

Becky chuckled, "Well I'm busy so you have to."

I turned and stomped to the front of the restaurant to find the new guy chatting in his native language with some university friends of his that showed up.

***

I requested his assistance mopping the floor, and he stood next to me while I explained the process. He ignored me and walked away when I went to hand him the mop. That was the moment I had had enough. I put everything down and again walked toward the back of the store to speak to my manager.

"He doesn't understand what I'm saying."

"Than do a better job, Ama."

I clenched my fists at my sides and took a deep breath, "No!"

Becky stopped what she was doing and turned to face me, "No? You won't do your job?"

"No, this isn't my job. I'm not being paid extra to do this. I was at no time asked to be a trainer. It was never even discussed. You can train him yourself. Don't push your responsibilities on me."

Her jaw dropped, and she took a second to think.

"I thought as much. Have a good night guys, I'm leaving."

The busses weren't running for a few more hours, so I made the hour walk down the hill to the bus terminal and sat at the Tim Hortons near by. An older man and I started talking, and he told me he lived down the street from me.

I have least believed in the kindness of strangers. So when he offered to drive me home, I said yes. We climbed into his pickup truck, and he brought me to my neighborhood. First, he showed me where he lived, and then he dropped me off at my building.

At that point in my life, I had high hopes that he was a murderer. Honestly, I couldn't continue living the way I was. Strangers didn't scare me. They were a possible way out, which is what I was looking for.