Chapter 6: Starting Work at the Restaurant

The next morning, Jimmy woke up early. Lacking a watch, he relied on the position of the sun and the nearby streetlights to gauge the time.

The surroundings were silent; the other homeless individuals had not yet risen. Jimmy packed his belongings into his backpack and set off toward the Wolf House. He had confirmed the route with others the day before, and it was quite a distance—estimated at five or six kilometers—which would take a considerable amount of time on foot.

He filled a cleaned mineral water bottle with water for the road and walked slowly along the highway. The sun had just risen, suggesting it was around seven o'clock. There wasn't much traffic, and the people here seemed remarkably laid-back, lacking the tense, frantic pace of his past life.

He frequently saw people jogging or walking their dogs, most of whom appeared to be middle-aged. Few young people were out; assuming it wasn't a case of everyone having left for work early, it was likely too early for most to be up.

Jimmy had chosen not to wear a hat today. His East Asian face was clearly a rarity here; many passersby would glance at him. From yesterday to now, he hadn't seen another Asian, only a couple of Latinos, a handful of Black people, and everyone else was white. Unless there was something specific about this neighborhood, it seemed safe to conclude that Arkansas, as a Southern state, was conservative and predominantly white.

As he walked, Jimmy let his mind wander, wondering if he should track down a local Asian community where he might find it easier to communicate and get things done. Because he had inquired about the route the day before, the journey was smooth, and he arrived at the Wolf House restaurant without a single wrong turn.

It was still early, and the shop hadn't opened yet. Jimmy sat on the front steps, staring blankly at the passing traffic while waiting for the restaurant to open.

...

About half an hour later, a police cruiser pulled up to the front with its lights flashing, though the siren was silent. An officer stepped out of the vehicle.

"Hi there, sir. Good morning."

"Hi, Officer. Good morning."

"What are you doing here? Can I see your ID?"

"Of course. Is something wrong?" Jimmy opened his wallet, took out his driver's license, and handed it to the officer.

"Nothing's wrong. Someone saw you sitting in front of the restaurant for a while and contacted us to come check it out." The officer glanced at the ID and handed it back.

"What are you doing here? Waiting for someone?"

"No, I'm here for work. I had an appointment with Mr. Wolf at 10 o'clock, but as you can see, I don't have a watch, so I arrived a bit early."

"It's 8:50 now, looks like you have quite a wait. Alright, since everything's fine, I'll be heading back. Take care." The officer left a business card with him, turned, and drove back onto the main street to continue his patrol.

Jimmy tucked the card into his wallet and returned to his daze. The level of "security" in America was truly baffling; it made one wonder just how dangerous things usually were if someone sitting on a doorstep was enough to trigger a police report.

...

After a long wait, Jon finally arrived. He parked his car and walked over.

"You're here early, Jimmy. Come on, let's go inside and talk."

He opened the restaurant door and led Jimmy into the manager's office next to the kitchen. Jon put his bag away, sat behind the desk, and said, "Have a seat. Jimmy, Jerry told me a bit about your situation yesterday, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"Of course, Mr. Wolf. I started in San Francisco, California, and have been drifting and doing odd jobs all the way to Little Rock. I've been here for a while now, and I need some money for the next leg of my journey, so I asked Jerry to help me find some temporary work." As he spoke, Jimmy handed over his driver's license. Jon took a few notes and returned it.

"Just call me Jon. Jimmy, I’ll be upfront: temporary work here is fine. The terms are the same as yesterday: $350 a week, paid every Friday. Since you don't have much experience, someone will show you the ropes today. You only have one day of training; tomorrow, you'll be delivering orders on your own. You won't be responsible for taking orders, just delivering them."

"Understood, Jon. When do the others arrive? I need to use the restroom to freshen up."

"I'll take you there."

Jon led Jimmy to the staff room, gave him a locker and a uniform. Jimmy put his bag away, took the clothes, and went to the restroom. He needed a thorough wash; he had been indifferent to such things while wandering, but now that he was working in a restaurant, he had to be clean.

Twenty minutes later, a refreshed Jimmy returned to the restaurant. The others hadn't arrived yet, so he sat at the register to rest. It was 10:30. A few minutes later, the staff began to trickle in, heading to the locker room to change into their uniforms and kitchen whites.

"Everyone, listen up. I'd like to introduce our new colleague, Jimmy Yang, from San Francisco. Karen, why don't you show him the ropes today? He'll be on delivery."

"Hi everyone, I'm Jimmy Yang. Nice to meet you all."

"Hi Jimmy, I'm Karen."

Jimmy looked at Karen. She was white, with wavy blonde hair and a fit build. She looked to be in her thirties or forties, well-kept, with only faint crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.

"Alright, let's get to work." Jon finished his announcement and walked back to his office, and the others dispersed.

"Jimmy, follow me, I'll show you around. Your job is delivery. You pick up the food from this window behind the register and take it to the tables. Come this way." Karen began showing him the layout.

"We have 10 tables. 1 through 8 are in the front, 9 and 10 are in the corner to the left. The table numbering goes clockwise—1, 2, 3, 4. You have to be careful; the tickets will be marked with table numbers like '1-1' or '3-2.' Make sure you don't get them mixed up."

"This leads to the kitchen, but we usually don't need to go in there. This is the dish return area; used dishes are stored here."

"Extra cutlery is in the cabinet by the register. If someone needs anything, they can get it there."

Jimmy followed Karen around the restaurant as she explained the details and introduced him to the rest of the staff. Eventually, Karen returned to the staff room, and Jimmy sat at a table by the door, watching the street outside.

Including him, there were three servers: Karen Pires and Annie Riley handled the orders, while Karen and he handled the deliveries. Erica Sanchez, a Latina, was the cashier. The two cooks were Jacob Riley and Daniel Brown. Annie and Jacob were a married couple.

The restaurant had only six employees in total: five white and one Latina. With Annie being married to the cook, Jacob, it was a completely white-dominated environment, further confirming his earlier observation that Arkansas was a conservative state where white people held the overwhelming majority.