Joe left the restaurant feeling better than he had before he had gone in. While he still didn't get paid for another ten days he at least had the money he earned from the tips. If he was careful, he could make it. The fact that he got a free meal per shift helped too. At least he wouldn't have to waste money on food. He wondered if he had enough money to get a change of clothing from the Goodwill store the next afternoon. He had made twenty-four dollars in tips his first night.
Joe gave a sigh and headed down to the Ford Museum. There was a place near there where he could crash tonight. He would have preferred the YMCA but if he went there then he definitely wouldn't have enough money to get a change of clothes and if he were going to have a real job, clothing was a priority. But where was he going to keep his things? He thought over the problem as he found his hard, cement bed for the evening and sat down.
He sighed and looked up at the few stars he could see. He would have to find a condemned building to stay in until he could afford a place. As for bathing and showering, it wouldn't be the best solution but if he could afford the Y once or twice a week then he could survive until he started getting paid from both his jobs and found a cheap apartment. Exhausted, but with a plan, Joe closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Joe arrived at the address on the card he had been given early the next morning. He spoke to the receptionist and was directed to an elevator where he hit the button for the twelfth floor. When the elevator stopped, he walked across a large carpeted room to a desk where a woman in her mid-thirties sat. She smiled at Joe as he neared, her brown eyes curious but kind.
"Mr. Tyrell is expecting you," she informed him. "Through the door on your right."
"Thank you," Joe murmured, glancing to his left and seeing a door marked Vice President before turning to his right and heading toward the door captioned Chief Executive Officer. Joe stopped in front of the door and rapped lightly.
"Come in," Rick Tyrell's voice boomed out. Joe twisted the knob and entered the room. Rick looked up at Joe and smiled. "Come on in and close the door," he instructed Joe.
Joe did as he had been bidden then walked up to the desk. "Hi," he said a bit nervously. "I won't hold you to your offer," Joe said. "But I really would appreciate a job of some kind."
"My offer stands," Rick said, waving at a chair behind and to the left of Joe. "Sit down. We'll fill out an application for you....Uncle Sam, I'm afraid," he added with a grimace. "I need your social security number and all that information. And once that is out of the way, we can begin."
Joe sat down. "Now, what is your full name?" Rick asked.
"Joseph Paul Hardy," Joe replied, looking at Rick curiously. "I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful but, you're the CEO of the company. Why are you doing this? Don't you have someone in charge of personnel?"
"I do," Rick admitted. "But you gave me the idea of creating a photographic department and I like to set up these kinds of things personally," he explained. "When were you born?"
"September seventeen, nineteen-eighty-six," Joe replied.
"Your parents names?" Rick inquired. "Since you are a minor," he explained.
"Does that make a big difference?" asked Joe.
"You need their permission to work here," Rick answered.
Joe stood up. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time," Joe said. "Thanks anyway," he added, heading for the door.
"Wait a minute," Rick ordered. Joe stopped and turned around to look at him questioningly. "Why don't you want to reveal who your parents are?"
"I...I ran away from home," Joe gave the half-truth. He couldn't tell this stranger that his family didn't want him.
Rick looked at Joe quizzically. It was clear he didn't fully believe what he was being told but he let it slide. "Sit back down," Rick informed him. "We can work around that."
"Really?" Joe asked hopefully, his blue eyes brightening.
"Really," Rick replied giving Joe a smile that was almost sympathetic.
Rick took all the information Joe would give him and then set the application to one side. "I have arranged for you to start your classes tomorrow," Rick said. "I know it is summer but night school is offered year round. The classes are given at the local library, which is only two blocks from here so I set it up so you could start immediately after your workday is through," Rick continued. "The classes are from six to nine every weekday."
"That's great," Joe said, smiling. He could still get in a couple of hours work at the restaurant before it closed.
"The classes you need from the college begin in August. You are signed up for morning classes from eight-thirty until eleven-forty-five. At one o'clock you begin your training here until five in the afternoon," Rick continued. "I'll give you your course schedule tomorrow. From now until August I thought we could spend the mornings organizing a lab and going over exactly what your position will entail once you have completed your training."
"It sounds too good to be true," Joe said.
Rick laughed. "Who said you can't enjoy your job?" he demanded with a slight smirk. "I, for one, love my job."
"Is that why you work?" asked Joe. He had overheard two patrons talking the previous evening while bussing a table and had discovered that Rick Tyrell was one of the wealthiest men in the world.
"It is," Rick acknowledged. "Now, shall we go to the floor I have chosen for your department?" he asked, rising from his seat. Joe stood and waited for Rick to lead the way.
Joe gave a sigh and headed down to the Ford Museum. There was a place near there where he could crash tonight. He would have preferred the YMCA but if he went there then he definitely wouldn't have enough money to get a change of clothes and if he were going to have a real job, clothing was a priority. But where was he going to keep his things? He thought over the problem as he found his hard, cement bed for the evening and sat down.
He sighed and looked up at the few stars he could see. He would have to find a condemned building to stay in until he could afford a place. As for bathing and showering, it wouldn't be the best solution but if he could afford the Y once or twice a week then he could survive until he started getting paid from both his jobs and found a cheap apartment. Exhausted, but with a plan, Joe closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Joe arrived at the address on the card he had been given early the next morning. He spoke to the receptionist and was directed to an elevator where he hit the button for the twelfth floor. When the elevator stopped, he walked across a large carpeted room to a desk where a woman in her mid-thirties sat. She smiled at Joe as he neared, her brown eyes curious but kind.
"Mr. Tyrell is expecting you," she informed him. "Through the door on your right."
"Thank you," Joe murmured, glancing to his left and seeing a door marked Vice President before turning to his right and heading toward the door captioned Chief Executive Officer. Joe stopped in front of the door and rapped lightly.
"Come in," Rick Tyrell's voice boomed out. Joe twisted the knob and entered the room. Rick looked up at Joe and smiled. "Come on in and close the door," he instructed Joe.
Joe did as he had been bidden then walked up to the desk. "Hi," he said a bit nervously. "I won't hold you to your offer," Joe said. "But I really would appreciate a job of some kind."
"My offer stands," Rick said, waving at a chair behind and to the left of Joe. "Sit down. We'll fill out an application for you....Uncle Sam, I'm afraid," he added with a grimace. "I need your social security number and all that information. And once that is out of the way, we can begin."
Joe sat down. "Now, what is your full name?" Rick asked.
"Joseph Paul Hardy," Joe replied, looking at Rick curiously. "I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful but, you're the CEO of the company. Why are you doing this? Don't you have someone in charge of personnel?"
"I do," Rick admitted. "But you gave me the idea of creating a photographic department and I like to set up these kinds of things personally," he explained. "When were you born?"
"September seventeen, nineteen-eighty-six," Joe replied.
"Your parents names?" Rick inquired. "Since you are a minor," he explained.
"Does that make a big difference?" asked Joe.
"You need their permission to work here," Rick answered.
Joe stood up. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time," Joe said. "Thanks anyway," he added, heading for the door.
"Wait a minute," Rick ordered. Joe stopped and turned around to look at him questioningly. "Why don't you want to reveal who your parents are?"
"I...I ran away from home," Joe gave the half-truth. He couldn't tell this stranger that his family didn't want him.
Rick looked at Joe quizzically. It was clear he didn't fully believe what he was being told but he let it slide. "Sit back down," Rick informed him. "We can work around that."
"Really?" Joe asked hopefully, his blue eyes brightening.
"Really," Rick replied giving Joe a smile that was almost sympathetic.
Rick took all the information Joe would give him and then set the application to one side. "I have arranged for you to start your classes tomorrow," Rick said. "I know it is summer but night school is offered year round. The classes are given at the local library, which is only two blocks from here so I set it up so you could start immediately after your workday is through," Rick continued. "The classes are from six to nine every weekday."
"That's great," Joe said, smiling. He could still get in a couple of hours work at the restaurant before it closed.
"The classes you need from the college begin in August. You are signed up for morning classes from eight-thirty until eleven-forty-five. At one o'clock you begin your training here until five in the afternoon," Rick continued. "I'll give you your course schedule tomorrow. From now until August I thought we could spend the mornings organizing a lab and going over exactly what your position will entail once you have completed your training."
"It sounds too good to be true," Joe said.
Rick laughed. "Who said you can't enjoy your job?" he demanded with a slight smirk. "I, for one, love my job."
"Is that why you work?" asked Joe. He had overheard two patrons talking the previous evening while bussing a table and had discovered that Rick Tyrell was one of the wealthiest men in the world.
"It is," Rick acknowledged. "Now, shall we go to the floor I have chosen for your department?" he asked, rising from his seat. Joe stood and waited for Rick to lead the way.
