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The first night shift
Name: ________________ Date: ________
Key words
| Word | Pinyin | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| 等到 | děngdào | to wait until |
| 同样 | tóngyàng | equally; likewise; same; similar |
| 至少 | zhìshǎo | at least |
| 整 | zhěng | exactly; sharp (as in 十点整) |
| 剩 | shèng | to remain; to be left over |
| 亮 | liàng | bright; shiny; to shine; to light up |
| 准 | zhǔn | accurate; exact |
| 台 | tái | station (radio, TV) |
| 钥匙 | yàoshi | key |
| 喊 | hǎn | to shout; to yell |
| 秒 | miǎo | second (unit of time or angle) |
| 停 | tíng | to stop; to halt |
English (for the teacher)
I haven’t slept properly for six months. In the dorm, my roommates each sleep more soundly than the next, while I lie there alone with my eyes open, listening to everyone snore, until it gets light. Then it came to me: if I can’t sleep anyway, I might as well work nights at a convenience store. I’d still be awake, but at least I’d be earning money.
By the university’s back gate there’s a twenty-four-hour convenience store with a slightly odd name: “Always Here”. There’s a hospital on its left and a primary school across the road. In the middle of the night the whole street goes dark, and only the shop stays lit, like a desk lamp that refuses to be switched off.
The owner, Sister Huang, is in her forties and talks fast and exact, like a till. At eleven o’clock on my first night she handed me the keys: “There are just three rules on nights. One: anyone who wants hot water gets it, free. Two: the van comes at three, so go out the back and unload it, and don’t keep the driver waiting. Three: when the door says ‘welcome’, you say it too.”
“If the door’s already said it, do I really have to?”
“The door’s a machine. You’re a person. It’s not the same.” And with that, she went home.
The shop has an automatic door, and whenever someone walks in it calls out in a sweet voice: “Welcome!” I’m always a second behind it, like an echo.
I sat down behind the till and opened the textbook I’d brought. I spent an hour on one page and was still on the first sentence.
There weren’t many customers that first night. At twelve, a drunk young guy bought three bottles of water and said thank you five times. At one o’clock, an old man in a worn army greatcoat bought two rice balls. At two, a couple came in arguing, finished arguing, and left hand in hand. After two the shop was so quiet that all I could hear was the oden bubbling in its pot.
At three the van arrived on time. I’d spent a quarter of an hour unloading out the back when I heard the door at the front call out: “Welcome!”
I shouted “Coming!”, but the driver was still waiting, so I had to finish the last few crates before I could run to the front. But there was nobody in the shop, only the hot-water machine, still steaming. Instead there was a little note on the counter, tucked under the coin tray. The characters were big, every stroke careful, like a schoolchild doing homework:
“New here? Your ‘welcome’ was a second slower than the door’s. See you tomorrow.”
I ran to the door and looked out. On the left, the hospital was dark; across the road, the school gate was shut. There wasn’t a soul on the street.
I turned round and looked at the door. It didn’t move, and it didn’t say a word.