[We're about 14 years in the past]

I was in a neighborhood that I wasn’t very familiar with. Someone had told me that there was a library here that allowed you access to PlayStation consoles.

I’m no avid gamer, but I fondly remember my Street fighter & Virtua Tennis battles from younger days. Although the bug didn't travel with me into adulthood.

Recently, however, I'd been craving to play a driving game.

Upon finding a copy of Need for Speed - Underground at this library, I had a blast for a couple of hours. It was a welcome distraction from the sometimes loop of mere survival out on the cold streets.

After my gaming session, I decided to explore the neighborhood for a bit; although it wasn’t the best idea walking down a street full of eateries with no money in my pocket.

I decided to walk into a quiet street that led to a park. Since I couldn't buy anything, I felt it's best not to go back to the main road. A nap on a bench in the park sounded like a better idea.

On taking a seat on the bench, something caught my eye on the ground: Someone had dropped a $5 note.

Thankful for my good fortune, I walked back to the main street again trying to find the best deal for 5 bucks — preferably a bite to eat and a drink. To my continuing fortune I found a bakery offering a $5 coffee and bagel special.

Although I lived for a year in a predominantly Jewish suburb before, I had never actually eaten a bagel. I was quite happy to try my first one.

A friendly lady at the counter asked me if I was ready to order, and I said: ‘I'd like the bagel special please.’

I took a seat, and she brought me a coffee, along with a cream cheese bagel.

As I was enjoying this lovely offering, a young man entered the store and got into a conversation with the lady. It seemed that the lady behind the counter was in charge of the place, and the young man worked there.

He fumbled through the small talk, reluctantly telling her that he was quitting his job; he'd found something else closer to home. The lady seemed a bit saddened by this, but she accepted the resignation.

She went behind the counter and decided to make herself a snack. She then looked in my direction and asked me something I didn't expect: “Hey, would you like another bagel? It’s on the house.”

Pleasantly surprised, I said: ‘Sure ma’am. I’d love another one.’

“What do you want on it?”, she inquired.

‘It's your call’, I replied.

She made me an everything bagel with cream cheese, smoked salmon, capers and some kind of novel dip on the side.

I didn’t know what to say apart from thank you, so I just inquired about the whether she owned the bakery?’

She said no, she just managed the place, but there there was a business she owned on the side: A jewelry store that imported goods from somewhere in Asia.

We got talking about her side business for a bit, and then at some point she asked: “Hey, I hope I’m not over-stepping my boundary? I don't know what you do for a living, but.. would you like to work here by any chance?"

I smiled and said: ‘To be honest I'm not a hospitality industry kind of guy. I'll likely spill the tea or coffee if I have to carry it more than a few meters to the customers table. Besides I'll struggle being extra polite to them just because they paid for a meal.'

She laughed then said: “You know what? You’re hired.”

I added: ‘Just so you know, I don’t like taking orders from a boss.'

[It was like that scene from the movie, Ted, where the Bear tries to sabotage the interview, but the manager gives him the job anyway]

But she was insistent, and made me an offer.

“Look, I appreciate your candor. You won't have to consider me a boss; just a friendly acquaintance. I‘d like you to work on the coffee machine; I’ll train you myself. You won’t have to deal with customers, just the order slips.”

This is where it got interesting for me. I’ve always loved the art of making good coffee. The bug had gotten worse after I had spent time with some Italian travelers during that mysterious year. Ever since, I had wanted to not only experience the wondrous joys of this complex bean, but also to learn how to make it well.

I never wanted to work for anyone else, but I was happy to trade my time in return for learning to make good coffee.

Of course, the annoying customers were going to be a potential problem, but I was promised I'd be shielded from them. But as it turned out, there were a couple of occasions when I had to speak with some idiots, and it did not go down so well.

The first occassion was when the store got unusually busy and my colleagues were short of hands at the food counter. I instinctively jumped in to help, but just as I did a lady screamed at one of our staff.

My colleague, who was a shy & quiet person, didn't say anything back to the lady. I'd already noticed that the customer had not responded when her docket number was called out — she'd been busy stuffing her mouth with bread samples from the counter.

I asked the customer if everything was fine; to which, she accused my colleague of being rude and deliberately ignoring her. I then looked towards my colleague, who politely said that she had called out the docket number twice, but the customer had not responded.

I knew the customer was lying, so I said that the next time she wanted to be heard, to maybe speak without bread samples stuffed in her mouth.

This obviously didn't go down well, and she started screaming for the manager. I knew the manager was in no mood to deal with this situation, so I told the lady that I was currently in charge, and I would not tolerate her screaming at my staff. I asked her to leave the store right away.

Completely flustered, she knocked down the sugar bottle on one of the tables, made a bloody mess, and huffed out the store.

On another occasion, it was this hipster chick who used to get finicky about her coffee order. On this fateful day, there was no controlled interface between us, as the manager was signing delivery dockets at the back.

She cut in front of another customer, knocked on the counter, and demanded: “I’d like a coffee to go” in an annoying nasal tone.

I maintained my composure and asked: ‘Sure, what kind of coffee would you like?’

This is what she demanded: “I want a decaf-skinny-half-strength-not-hot-to-sip-cappucino-with-chocolate-powder-sprinkled-across-only-half-the-cup. And I need this to go in a hurry!”

I was definitely not in the mood for this kind of bullshit, so I told her it's the morning rush hour, and there's no way I was going to make her that pretend coffee drink.

I guess I crossed some kind of line because she let out a string of expletives at me, and raged out of the store! I got a good laugh out of it, and we never saw her again. She moved on to hassle another coffee place across the road.

My manager didn't seem to mind my attitude about these incidents. Knowing how many annoying bitches she'd endured in this snobby area, it was funny to her that someone would occasionally put rude customers in their place.

But these incidents aside, I actually had a fun time at the bakery. My colleagues were awesome towards me, and I actually ended up working there for 3 months, which was a miracle for me in this type of a setup.

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When I received my first weeks wages, I decided to check myself into a hostel — I cannot tell you how nice it was to have my own bed and a proper shower.

Standing under running water was like some transcendent experience... but sharing a small room with 8 other smelly travelers was not.

The evening when I first checked in, there were a lot of people in the hostel, so I felt like spending some time on my own. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I thought I’d treat myself to some pizza down the street.

But as I walked out the hostel I had this strange feeling to go towards the library where I used to write & design my book. I knew the library was closed by this hour, but I was curious what this feeling was about. I decided to go check it out.

As I walked past the (now shut) library wondering why I had wasted my time, I noticed someone I thought I knew.

It was Irene, she was curled up in a corner.

Irene was a an old Polish woman who had fallen on hard times. She was in her 60’s with swollen legs, so walking in winter especially was an almighty struggle.

Under great duress she’d drag herself to the library and then sit on a chair with a book, pretty much all day long. In the evenings she’d slowly make her way out the library and then find somewhere to fall asleep.

Irene’s mind, however, was sharp as a tack; her tongue even sharper! She spoke with an accent, but her English was perfect.

I had witnessed her on a few occasions ripping idiots to shreds (verbally) when they tried to cross her. It was glorious viewing!

I often wish I had the knack to let rip at people in a flowing rant, just as freely as my rage. Alas, this isn’t one of my gifts. I'm more of a short, sharp, verbal incision kind.

Irene used to have a little bit of money come into her account every month from some government scheme, but it was never enough to get a proper place to live in. Besides she just did not want to deal with real estate agents — she couldn’t handle being put through bureaucratic hoops at her age.

In the mornings, ever so often, she’d hand me some money and politely ask to buy her a coffee. She’d always insist that I get myself something too.

On the initial occasions, I returned the change back to her (without buying anything for myself), but she cottoned on quickly.

One morning when I returned back with her coffee, she refused to drink it. She said that I had to get myself something, or she wouldn’t drink her’s.

She was serious.

From that point on (and in my life in general), I decided to make myself a more gracious receiver. I’ve always been open in giving, but I’ve had to learn to open myself to receiving too. I figured, why deny someone else the joy of giving to you?

Irene was probably only one of 2 people through my entire time on the streets, who I was able to make a genuine connection with.

On this particular evening, however, Irene was pretty down in the dumps, emotionally. One couldn't imagine how awful she was feeling physically too.

I decided it was time to do something for her, so I said: ‘You remember that nice pizza place in the city you used to talk about often? We’re going there tonight!”

She was in tears, but now, at least, they were of a slightly happy kind.

I helped her up, slowly walked to the train station, and we made our way to the pizza place. We ordered 2 large pizzas with all the best toppings they had, and we sat on the grass and gorged on the food.

She then looked at me and said: “You know, I visited Casinos while traveling when I was younger, but I never won much. It's why I loved your story from a few years ago. Will you go and play a number for me tonight?”

I asked: ‘Do you have a feeling for anything?’

She responded: “Well, how about $5 on number 5?”

I took the money, made my way to the casino, exchanged it for a chip, and without a subsequent thought put it on number 5.

Just like a few years ago, fate gifted this lack of second-guessing with a first spin win.

My heart sank a bit, but in the best possible way. And even though the inclination was strong to push my luck further, something within me couldn't mess with the beauty of this moment. I went back and handed Irene the money.

She laughed and said: “I knew you would bring good news.”

But then, she refused to accept the cash. “It’s for you”, she insisted.

I was not going to have any of this from her. I convinced her to come along with me, and I checked her into a motel for a few nights with the money.

I haven’t seen Irene since that fateful evening...

She had always wanted to own a shop selling eclectic jewelry & trinkets. I hope, one day, I shall run into her in one of these stores.

It would be the best story.