Marco woke up early, put on his best shirt, and read his notes one more time over breakfast. At ten o'clock he had a job interview at Harper Books, and he wanted this position more than anything — he loved books, and after eight months without work, he badly needed the paycheck.
He left home with plenty of time to spare. Then, two blocks from the bus stop, he saw an old man sitting on the wet sidewalk beside a fallen ladder, with apples from a shopping bag rolling into the street.
Marco looked at his watch, looked at the man, and sighed. 'Are you hurt?'
'My ankle,' the man said through his teeth. 'I was cleaning the sign above my shop window. Foolish, at my age.'
Marco helped him up carefully, supported him to a chair inside the shop, and collected the scattered apples. He brought ice from the back room, wrapped it in a towel, and telephoned the man's daughter. By the time she arrived it was 9:50, the bus was gone, and Marco ran the whole way through the rain.
He reached Harper Books at 10:20, soaked and out of breath. The woman at the front desk shook her head slowly. 'The manager waited twenty minutes,' she said. 'You can leave your resume, but honestly, arriving late to an interview is not a promising start.'
Marco nodded. He had no clever excuse, only a true explanation, so he told her exactly what had happened, thanked her politely, and turned toward the door.
'Wait,' said a voice from the office doorway. A man sat just inside the doorway with an amused smile — and a bandaged ankle resting on a small stool. It was the old man from the shop.
'My brother owns this store,' he said. 'My daughter took me to the clinic, and then she drove me here. My own little shop is the one where you found me this morning. Twenty people sent us excellent resumes, young man. This morning, without knowing who I was, you gave me your time. No resume can show me that.'