Jona-XI.1A; Rich Dad,Poor dad translation

 Pages;16&17//Faqet;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.

16


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.”




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Tridhjetë qindarka më vonë
Deri në orën 9:00 të mëngjesit atë ditë, Majk dhe unë po punonim për zonjën Martin. Ajo ishte një grua e mirë dhe e durueshme. Ajo gjithmonë thoshte që Majk dhe unë i kujtonim dy djemtë e saj të rritur. Megjithëse e mirë, ajo besonte në punën e palodhur dhe na mbante në lëvizje. Kemi kaluar tre orë duke marrë mallra të konservuara nga raftet, duke pastruar secilën kanaçe me një pastrues prej pendësh për të hequr pluhurin, dhe pastaj t'i rivendosnim serish neper rafte. Ishte një punë jashtëzakonisht e mërzitshme.


Babai i Majk, të cilin unë e quaj babai im i pasur, zotëronte nëntë nga këto dyqane të vogla, secila me një parking të madh. Ata ishin versioni i hershëm i dyqaneve komoditet 7-Eleven, dyqaneve ushqimore të lagjeve të vogla ku njerëzit blinin artikuj të tillë si qumësht, bukë, gjalpë dhe cigare. Problemi ishte se ky ishte Hawaii para se të përdorej gjerësisht kondicionimi dhe dyqanet nuk mund të mbyllnin dyert për shkak të nxehtësisë. Në dy anët e dyqanit, dyert duhej të ishin të hapura tërësisht në rrugë dhe parking. Sa herë që një makinë kalonte ose vinte në parking, pluhuri vërtitej dhe vendosej në dyqan. Ne e dinim se kishim një punë për sa kohë që nuk kishte ajër të kondicionuar.
Për tre javë, Mike dhe unë u raportuam te Zonja Martin dhe punuam tre orë. Deri në mesditë, puna jonë kishte mbaruar dhe ajo hodhi tre qindarka të vogla në secilin nga duart tona. Tani, edhe në moshën nëntë vjeç në mes të viteve 1950, 30 cent nuk ishin shumë emocionuese. Librat komikë kushtonin 10 cent atëherë, kështu që unë zakonisht i shpenzoja paratë e mia në libra komik dhe shkoja në shtëpi.
Deri të Mërkurën e javës së katërt, unë isha gati të lë punën. Unë kisha pranuar të punoja vetëm sepse doja të mësoja të fitoja para nga babai i Majkut, dhe tani isha skllav për 10 cent në orë. Për më tepër, nuk e kisha parë babanë e Majkut që nga e shtuna e parë.
"Po e lĂ« punĂ«n”, i thashĂ« Majk nĂ« kohĂ«n e drekĂ«s. Shkolla ishte e mĂ«rzitshme dhe tani nuk kisha as tĂ« shtunat e mia pĂ«r tĂ« pritur me padurim. Por ishin 30 cent ato qĂ« mĂ« mbajten vĂ«rtet.
Këtë herë Majk buzëqeshi.
"Me çfarĂ« po qesh?" - pyeta me inat dhe acarim. “Babai tha qĂ« kjo do tĂ« ndodhte. Ai tha tĂ« takohesh  me tĂ« kur tĂ«
ishit gati ta lije ".
"ÇfarĂ«?" ThashĂ« i indinjuar me acarim. "Ai ka qenĂ« duke pritur qĂ« unĂ« tĂ« mĂ« vijĂ« nĂ« majĂ« tĂ« hundes? "
"Pakashume", tha Mike. "Babai është një lloj i ndryshëm. Ai nuk jep mësime si
babai yt. Mami dhe babai juaj mbajnĂ« shumĂ« leksione. Babai im Ă«shtĂ« i qetĂ« dhe njeri me pak fjalĂ«. Thjesht prit deri tĂ« shtunĂ«n. UnĂ« do t’i them se je gati ”.
"Do të thuash që më kanë futur ne nje lloj kurthi?"
“Jo, jo nĂ« tĂ« vĂ«rtetĂ«, por ndoshta. Babai do tĂ« shpjegojĂ« tĂ« ShtunĂ«n. "









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