Langland-Hayes 1

Kelsey Langland-Hayes

Professor Ross

ENGL 305

7 February 2020

Just Business

Passing an older gentleman in tattered clothing, I pause for a moment to fiddle in my pockets. I

smile at the gentleman as I reach for loose bills and hand them to him. With a heavy sigh, I grab

the door and march into the dimly-lit room of Oliver’s Steakhouse, locking eyes with a slim man

in his early 30s. With a quick nod, I walk in his direction and excuse myself as I work my way

through the crowded restaurant to his table.

“Good afternoon,” I offer him a firm handshake, “Liam Ellis?”

“Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Dominguez.”

“Likewise. It’s an honor to meet with you and to be interviewed for Just Business. I’m

not much of a magazine reader myself, but some of my colleagues have shared some of

your work with me; you’re quite the writer-”

“And you’re quite the businessman, Mr. Dominguez. Before we begin, I say we order

food. I’m in desperate need of something to eat.”

Breathing in the delectable smell of steak, I pick up my utensils and slice into its pink, juicy

center before putting it into my mouth. I glance over at the vacant table next to us and notice a

busboy cleaning up full plates of food. Shifting my gaze over to the window, I catch a glimpse of

the older gentleman outside and scrunch up my face.

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“Mr. Dominguez,” he brings my attention back to our table, “I know I spoke with your

secretary some on the phone, but I wanted to meet with you today to discuss your success

as an entrepreneur.”

“Of course. I would be happy to help.”

“Alright, sir. So, what would you say is your dream job?”

“My dream job? It’s funny you ask that, but I don’t spend too much time thinking about

doing anything else. I try to find enjoyment where I’m at.”

“Understandable. So, I guess you could say that you’re in your dream job right now?”

“Yeah…” I smile to myself, “I guess you could say that.”

“That’s great to hear...” he jots something down before looking back up, “Moving right

along then. Mr. Dominguez, you own a skyrocketing business and you’re known as one

of the wealthiest men in the state of Texas...What has made you so successful in life?”

Taking a moment to process, I look over at his nearly full plate and observe him moving his

steak back and forth. I bite my tongue for a moment and shift my gaze back to his face.

“Umm...yeah. I guess that depends on how you would define success. What do you

consider successful?”

“What do I consider successful?” he laughs, “For one, having what you want when you

want it - money, security, real estate…”

“Forgive me, but I guess you can’t call me successful by your standards. Being an

entrepreneur requires you to take risks and not always produce the results you want when

you want to…” my tone softens more, “Mr. Ellis, from my experience, success is laying

your head down every night knowing that you’re a different person than when you woke
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up; it’s planting seeds and continuing to plant those seeds, and it’s being okay with the

fact that those “plants” may never grow…”

“What brought you to where you are now?”

“Honestly, I’ve come a long way...I used to have nothing, or at least what people here in

the States would call nothing-”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” he cuts me off.

Suddenly, the waitress comes over and starts to clean off our table as I take a sip of my water.

“Sorry to interrupt, but would you like me to bring you a box for that, sir?” she nods

at his plate of food.

“No, thanks. I’m not a big leftovers guy,” he chuckles.

I choke on my water and abruptly grab my napkin to cover my mouth, trying to suppress my

coughs. He raises his brow at me.

“What? You don’t ever throw away your leftovers, Mr. Billionaire?”

“No. Leftovers are the only reason my sister and I are still alive.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“Let me tell you about where I come from…” my eyes focus on his plate before I

continue, “I grew up in a small town, hidden in the hills of Guatemala, known as San Jose

Calderas. My father left when I was only a baby, so it was just me, my sister, and our

mother. I attended a single room school and feeding center called Milagro. Every day, I

brought a tiny plastic bag and kept it deep within my pocket until the women at Milagro

made us lunch. Oftentimes, that was the only meal I would receive all day, yet

I would pull the plastic from my pocket to save whatever I could for Maria and my
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mother; the days we had soup were the most challenging days to bring food home, but I

made do and we made do. Every now and again, I had an American friend in the city,

Matthew, who would send me with a bag filled with whatever his family hadn’t finished

from that night. On those nights...that was our “Thanksgiving.” When I attended

school, my sister, Maria, worked in a hotel while my mother spent most of her days

gardening, hoping to grow any food she could...even though it hardly ever rained. She did

what she could to help me and my sister survive, but nothing would ever grow. Even

though our only source of sustenance was leftovers, she had hope…”

Locking eyes with Mr. Ellis, I take a deep breath and smile.

“...Because of everything we experienced...I believe that success is choosing to plant one

more seed every day, even when it never rains,” I chuckle to myself, “so yes...I’m serious

when I say I don’t throw away leftovers.”

Jumping up, Mr. Ellis causes his chair to stumble back a bit before snatching up his jacket and

notebook.

“Where are you going?” I furrow my brow.

He holds up a single finger, pausing for a moment.

“Waiter, I will take that box,” Mr. Ellis shifts his eyes to the older gentleman outside the

window, “Sorry to cut this short, Mr. Dominguez, but I think it’s about time I started

planting some seeds of my own.”