"Who is that?"
In another corner, seven or eight teenagers stood around a young man in his early twenties wearing a cap.
It was faintly visible that this young man in a cap was the core of their little circle.
One of the younger ones said, "I heard his name is Lance, an illegal immigrant from Balman State."
"He said he could make 200 yuan for a job, and that's why Rob, the annoying guy, got into an argument with him."
Barmann Province is not a developed area of the empire. Its economy is based on agriculture, and although there are also developed cities, it is still slightly behind prosperous areas like the imperial capital.
Most of the imperial people who have permanent residence here and have obtained citizenship come from the developed areas of the imperial capital, and only these people can successfully obtain permanent residence cards and citizenship.
So when it came to Lance's hometown, the youngest guy wasn't very enthusiastic.
"No matter where he's from, as long as he and Rob don't get along, we can be friends."
"As for the two hundred dollar job, we can go and hear what he has to say."
"And get to know him while we're at it."
Rob didn't have a very good reputation here. He inherited Mr. Bolton's mercenary and snobbish nature, and at the same time, he didn't disguise these qualities very well.
He would make sarcastic remarks or sarcastic comments for nothing to those poor people he looked down on, giving people the impression that he was obviously superior to them.
As for the children of wealthy families with a certain social status, he would act like a lapdog, wagging his tail and saying nice things.
The more he did this, the less people liked him, both those he looked down on and those he wanted to ingratiate himself with.
Of course, although everyone dislikes him, they don't hate him, just dislike him, which is why he is still here.
As soon as this group of people approached Lance, they heard him speak, "I have a job in my hands that needs to be done, and I'm not willing to let this opportunity go to someone else, so the first person I thought of was our own people."
The young man in the cap interrupted, "Can I ask what exactly it is?"
"And how much are you willing to pay us for the job?"
Lance turned to look at him. He was a fair-skinned man, about 1.73 to 1.75 meters tall, which was considered tall for this era.
He looked thin, wearing a white shirt, dark trousers, a pair of old but polished leather shoes with straps, and a gray cap.
Many times Lance couldn't figure out what the custom was of wearing a hat on such a hot day, and it wasn't just him, many adults, people on the street, wore hats, weren't they hot?
In response to Lance's gaze, the cap extended his hand, "Enio, from Dokanis."
Lance shook his hand and said with a smile, "Lance, from Balman."
The two quickly let go of each other's hands. Enio asked, "I heard earlier that you have a good job to introduce to us?"
"That's right."
"Can I ask what it is like and how much it pays?"
The young people around them actually wanted to know these things, otherwise they would not have gathered around.
Although most people here have received permanent residence cards and citizenship, it does not mean that they are definitely rich and middle class.
The majority of these immigrants live in small apartments in slums, like Mr. Burton.
Those who can become bankers like Mr. Jobaf are even more of a minority, perhaps two or three out of 30,000 immigrants.
Most people still aspire to make more money.
"I don't know if you know the nature of my work, but it's just the kind of work where I solve problems for other people and they pay me.
"I can assure you, it is absolutely not illegal, but it may cause a little trouble."
"This job only takes one day, from 10 o'clock in the morning to around 8 o'clock in the evening. It does not require physical labor, and you will be sitting in one place, and you cannot leave in the middle."
"I can give you..."
He could clearly feel everyone around him holding their breath. He held up one hand, spreading his fingers apart, "five dollars!"
Someone let out a suppressed gasp. If you could earn five dollars a day, wouldn't that be 150 dollars a month?
Even Enio's breathing became a little rapid. He needed money too, and there were not many people here who didn't.
"How long can I do this job for, and when will I get paid?"
Looking at the more young people who had gathered around, Lance patiently explained, "This is a temporary job, only for one day, but there may be other jobs for you in the future."
"You will be paid immediately after the job, there will be no delays."
"As I said, the money can go to anyone, so why wouldn't I give it to my fellow brothers and sisters?" He glanced at the several ladies around him and added with a smile, 'And sisters."
The girls giggled, thinking that Lance was a very interesting person, as few people spoke so openly and cheerfully.
Enio continued, 'So what will the job entail?"
"Enjoying the food..."
At first Lance did consider going out and finding some homeless people, but then he quickly thought again. Homeless people simply could not enter the restaurant, and the manager at the door would prevent them from entering.
If the homeless people could not enter, then there was no point in hiring them.
If they were provided with clothing that would allow them to enter the restaurant, not only would the cost increase, but it would also fail to disgust Mr Anderson.
It would be better to simply find some ordinary people. At the same time, it would be better to give this job to someone else than to give it to these second-generation immigrants.
They have legal status, and what they are asked to do is not illegal either. At most, they will get a good scolding, but nothing serious.
At the same time, it will establish him as a capable person in the immigrant community, which is a win-win situation.
Soon enough, there were enough young people who wanted to participate in this event, not only because they wanted to earn some money, but also because they were interested in Lance's plans.
The next morning, Mr. Anderson was very satisfied with the ingredients that had been prepared.
That was the point of hiring apprentices –
to get the most work done for the least amount of money.
Unlike Fat Boss Johnny, who not only didn't pay his apprentices, but expected them to pay him,
Mr. Anderson would pay each apprentice fifteen dollars, but they lived almost exclusively in the restaurant and had no days off.
Starting at six in the morning and finishing at ten at night, they worked almost non-stop, unless there were no customers in the restaurant.
Despite the harsh conditions, people were fighting to get in as an apprentice, because Mr. Anderson himself had gone from apprentice to restaurant owner.
The apprentices and the families behind them all believed that they would learn a real trade here and become a businessman and middle class like Mr. Anderson.
After checking all the ingredients, it was almost ten o'clock. Weekends were a little slower at lunchtime, around twelve o'clock, but they would pick up until around two or three in the afternoon.
Then, without much rest, they would start preparing for the evening rush at five o'clock. Every weekend was the restaurant's most profitable time, just like yesterday.
Today, he planned to earn even more, to prepare for his expansion.
He arrives at ten o'clock sharp and hears the manager greeting guests in the front. Although Mr. Anderson thinks it's a bit early, there are guests dining, so who the hell cares if it's early or not?
As long as they pay, he'll make these people whatever they want.
Soon the waiters come with the menu to take orders, and the cooks are ready to get to work. But when they look at the menu, they see that the total comes to one dollar and ninety-nine cents.
A 99-cent meal bun and a $1 mixed vegetable dish.
The former was wrapped in a hand-woven basket, after all, you could get a full meal for 15 cents at the bakery, so even if the restaurant would charge a premium, it wouldn't be too unreasonable.
The 99 cents was for a pound of bread, which was enough to fill two or three people up.
The mixed vegetables, one of the restaurant's best-selling dishes, consisted of crunchy vegetables mixed with just-cooked, slightly al dente pork ribs.
It was a refreshingly sweet and sour appetizer, but not many people ordered it on its own.
Anderson asked around, and there was only one person dining alone, and one person could indeed eat all of this.
He had seen this kind of person before, someone who wanted to experience the atmosphere of a high-end restaurant but didn't have much money. He didn't say much about it, but just made sure the quality of the food was maintained.
You can't treat a customer badly just because they're spending little and are dining alone.
Mr. Anderson got up early in the morning and was a little sleepy after the busy rush hour.
He said hello to the manager and went to the lounge to take a nap.
He didn't know how long he had been asleep, but the sudden knock on the door woke him from his half-asleep state. He sat up abruptly, and after a moment of confusion, he opened the door.
"Are you too busy to serve the guests?", he asked, reaching for the apron hanging on the wall and putting it around his neck. 'I'll go help."
The manager, however, was in a panic, 'There's been an accident!"