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Have you ever wondered why you need a job when your parents are filthy rich, and your siblings are just as loaded?
I mean, why work when you can get anything you want, anytime? I don't get why my family keeps nagging me to find a job, especially when they've always sent money into my account at the end of every month.
I've been stubborn about it.
Dad would force me to go to interviews, but I'd show up late, say nonsense, or not even bother.
I mean, who wants to wake up early, spend the whole day with a headache, come home drained, and do it all again the next day?
Just thinking about it makes me sick.
But here's the problem: my money's run out. Dad put a stop to the monthly transfers, saying, "Let's see how long you last without a job."
So now, here I am—stressed and broke.
I've never cared about much, not even school. I never studied. In detention, I'd stare at a book, not read a word. My high school and college years? Flirting, partying, and sleeping around. Life's short. Why strain yourself?
Still, I've got no choice now. Today, I'm going to an interview—seriously, for once. But first, I need a few essentials to survive this awful day.
At the supermarket, I glide in on my skateboard, wheels buzzing as I dodge annoyed shoppers and head straight to Aisle 6—my sacred spot where they keep the passion fruit juice and packets of Passion flavoured lollipops, I never go a day without those.
But just as I reach for the last bottle, there's another hand on it. A powerful hand. A hand attached to a man in a sharp suit who looks like he owns entire cities.
I glance up. He's tall, chiseled, and radiates a don't-mess-with-me vibe. But my fingers are on that bottle too, and I'm not letting go.
"Are you serious?" he asks, his voice low and smooth.
"First come, first served," I reply, smirking.
He raises an eyebrow like I'm insane, but I hold my ground. He's clearly sizing me up, wondering if I'll give in. Spoiler: I won't.
Then—bam!—an idea strikes. I step back, fake a stumble, and drop dramatically to the floor.
"OW! My leg!" I clutch my knee, wincing. "You weren't watching where you were going!"
Shoppers gather, murmuring with concern. An older lady gasps, "Did he hit you?"
I nod pitifully. "I think… I think it's broken. I might need to see a doctor." I glance up to see Mr. Fancy Suit glaring at me, utterly bewildered.
Pressure mounts. Someone demands, "Sir, did you bump into this poor child?"
Trapped, the man sighs, pulls out his wallet, and hands me cash. Success. But as he tries to leave with the juice, I grab his leg. "Actually… I think this juice would help me feel better."
Wordlessly, he lets go of the bottle—it hits my nose. Hard.
Blood trickles. Okay, that actually hurts.
My leg is fine, but I might need a doctor for my nose. I stand up and start skating away ignoring people who are still wondering how I am able to skate with a broken leg.
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At the hospital, the doctor says it's just a scratch, but I take a selfie with the blood and send it to the family group chat: "I fell badly and broke my nose. The hospital won't treat me unless I pay first."
Seconds later, the money rolls in—Mom, Dad, my brother, and sister. Success again!
The money I have now can sustain me for a month, but since I spent the whole night practising for the interview, I'll just go.
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I rush to the company in my oversized suit—thanks, Mom, for laughing at me all morning.
I arrive late, bandage on my nose, gasping for breath. At the front desk, the receptionist scowls, unimpressed.
"There's no more interviews going on, you are late, the last person just left." She says.
"I had an accident," I explain dramatically. "But I'm here! Determined. Regardless of the pain am in , I've still managed to rush here , don't you think it will be unfair to refuse me like this?" I press on.
I can see her expression soften just a bit, a flicker of exasperation turning into something like pity.
" Okay fine , follow me , but I can't guarantee that you'll have an opportunity, the person conducting the interviews today doesn't tolerate shit , no matter the situation or the reason!" She says .
Victory! I keep my face composed - don't want to blow my cover with a smirk or anything - but inside, I'm doing a little dance because at least she has let me in and there's no going back no matter what and no matter who is in there.
" Wait here , I'll see the situation in there first." She asks me to wait outside the door .
" okay" I say and the moment she goes in and closes the door , I follow going near the door to eavesdrop.
.....
Yeah shit! He's not gonna let me in no matter what she says , so Imma just go inside and fight for myself.
I adjust the bandage on my nose, trying to look as pitiful as possible. Just before knocking on the door, I take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of confidence I can muster, then push it open without waiting for a reply. Not exactly polite, but I figure it'll make an impression.
And I stop dead in my tracks.
Holy crap! I shouldn't have come! Okay, this is got to be my imagination! But why would I be imagining about this dude who broke my nose!
Thought what I did in the morning was pretty clever at the time.
Right now, though? Not so clever.
The guy-no, the CEO-just stares at me, clearly relishing my shock. I can feel my mouth open and close like a fish out of water.
He's giving me this look that's somewhere between amused and murderous, and I know I'm toast. Forget the interview; I'll be lucky if he doesn't throw me out on the spot.