Evis Nikolli, kl.X 1-A; Rich dad, Poor dad; pg.16-17

 

Thirty Cents Later

 

By 9:00 a.m. that day, Mike and I were working for Mrs. Martin. She was a kind and patient woman. She always said that Mike and I reminded her of her two grown sons. Although kind, she believed in hard work and kept us moving. We spent three hours taking canned goods off the shelves, brushing each can with a feather duster to get the dust off, and then re-stacking them neatly. It was excruciatingly boring work.

     Mike’s dad, whom I call my rich dad, owned nine of these little superettes, each with a large parking lot. They were the early version of the 7-Eleven convenience stores, little neighborhood grocery stores where people bought items such as milk, bread, butter, and cigarettes. The problem was that this was Hawaii before air-conditioning  was widely used, and the stores could not close their doors because of the heat. On two sides of the store, the doors had to be wide open to the road and parking lot. Every time a car drove by or pulled into the parking lot, dust would swirl and settle in the store. We knew we had a job as long as there was no air-conditioning.

For three weeks, Mike and I reported to Mrs. Martin and worked

our three hours. By noon, our work was over, and she dropped three little dimes in each of our hands. Now, even at the age of nine in the mid-1950s, 30 cents was not too exciting. Comic books cost 10 cents back then, so I usually spent my money on comic books and went home.

By Wednesday of the fourth week, I was ready to quit. I had agreed to work only because I wanted to learn to make money from Mike’s dad, and now I was a slave for 10 cents an hour. On top of that, I had not seen Mike’s dad since that first Saturday.

“I’m quitting,” I told Mike at lunchtime. School was boring, and now I did not even have my Saturdays to look forward to. But it was the 30 cents that really got to me.

This time Mike smiled.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked with anger and frustration. “Dad said this would happen. He said to meet with him when you were ready to quit.”

“What?” I said indignantly. “He’s been waiting for me to get fed up?”

“Sort of,” Mike said. “Dad’s kind of different. He doesn’t teach like your dad. Your mom and dad lecture a lot. My dad is quiet and a man of few words. You just wait till this Saturday. I’ll tell him you’re ready.”

“You mean I’ve been set up?”

“No, not really, but maybe. Dad will explain on Saturday.”

 

 

 

  Tridhjete “Centë” me vone

 

Nga ora 9 e mengjesit ate dite, Majku dhe une po punonim per zonjen Martin. Ajo ishte nje grua e sjellshme dhe e duruar. Gjithmone thoshte se une dhe Majku I kujtonim dy djemte e saj te rritur. Ndonese e sjellshme, ajo besonte ne punen e palodhur dhe na mbante gjithmone ne levizje. Kaluam tre ore duke marre mallra te konservuara nga raftet , duke pastruar secilen kanace me nje pastrues prej pendesh per te hequr pluhurin dhe pastaj duke i vendosur perseri me kujdes. Ishte nje pune teper e merzitshme.

 

Babai i Majkut, te cilin e quaj « babai im i pasur », zoteronte nente nga keto supermarkete                  te vogla, secili me nje parking te madh. Ato ishin versioni i hershem i  dyqaneve « 7-eleven », ushqimore te vogla ne lagje, ku njerezit blinin artikuj si :qumesht, buke, gjalp dhe cigare. Problemi ishte se, ky ishte Hawaii perpara se kondicionimi te perdorej gjeresisht   dhe  dyqanet  nuk mund ti mbyllnin dyert per shkak te nxehtesise se larte.  Ne te dyja anet e dyqanit, dyert duhet te mbaheshin krejtesisht te hapura drejt rruges dhe parkingut.  Sa here qe kalonte  ndonje makine, ose futej ne parking , pluhuri vertitej dhe futej ne dyqan. E dinim qe kishim nje pune per sa kohe qe nuk kishte kondicioner.

 

Per tre jave Majku dhe une punuam tek zonja Martin tre ore. E mbaruam punen ne mbremje, dhe ajo na dha  nga tre monedha te vogla secilit. Megjithese , edhe ne moshen nente vjecare ne mesin e viteve 1950, 30 cente nuk ishin dicka shume emocionuese. Librat komike , ne ate kohe kushtonin 10 cent, keshtu qe une zakonisht i shpenzoja te gjitha parate e mija per libra komik dhe kthehesha ne shtepi.

 

Te merkuren e javes se katert, isha gati per te dhene doreheqjen. Kisha pranuar te punoja, vetem sepse doja te mesoja nga babai i Majkut se si te beja parà, ndersa tani isha kthyer  ne nje skllav vetem  per 10 cent ne ore. Nuk e kisha pare babain e Majkut qe prej te shtunes se pare kur fillova punen.

 

« Do e lë punen » i thashe Majkut ne dreke. Shkolla ishte e merzitshme dhe tani nuk kisha as te shtunat qe I prisja me padurim. Por ishin ato 30 centet qe me te  vertete ndikuan tek une.

Majk qeshi.

“ Per cfare po qesh?” e pyeta I inatosur.

“Babi e dinte qe kjo gje do ndodhte. Ai tha qe te takohemi me te kur te jesh gati per te dhene doreheqjen ».

« Cfare ? » thashe i indinjuar. «  Ai po priste qe une te merzitesha me punen ? »

«  Pak a shume » tha Majk. « Babi im eshte disi ndryshe. Ai nuk me meson, si babai yt. Mami dhe babi yt japin shume leksione, ndersa babi im eshte i qete dhe fjalepake. Vetem prit deri kete te shtune. Do ti them qe je gati.”

“ Mos do te thuash qe jam ngritur ne detyre?”

“Jo… por ndoshta. Babi do te ta shpjegoje te shtunen »