Page 8 of Anything But Convenient

Okay, so maybe my life wasn't completely in jeopardy or anything like that.

Still, it felt frustrating to know that my entire existence hinged on whether or not I could find a reliable job in the near future. Since I slept in later than usual, I missed seeing my roommate before he left for work. It was no big deal since he had tried so hard to cheer me up the night before.

The guy deserved a break after my moping.

With nothing better to do, I headed to the one place I knew would put a smile on my face. The small coffee shop was tucked away downtown. It was smack dab in the middle of the busiest area, but you didn’t feel as if you were in the midst of the crazy rush.

Somehow, Sinclair had created a safe space for everyone that came by. His warm smile greeted me when I stepped through the front door.

"Archie?” he yelled across the room.

A few heads turned my way. I waved at the familiar faces as I approached the counter.

"Morning, Sinclair," I told him.

He clicked his tongue. "More like afternoon, my friend."

I glanced at the clock behind him and winced. I had no clue I had slept for so long. Shrugging, I tapped the finger on the counter.

"Try not to give me crap. I'm not having the best couple of days."

His grin turned down quickly. "What do you mean? Is something wrong?"

I waved my hand. "Let's not talk until I've had some caffeine. I would love something laced with enough to get me through the rest of the day.”

He snorted, then went to work. I watched him pour the espresso shots into the cup, then add several different flavorings to it. Who knew what kind of mix he was making? Despite the vast blend of flavors, it was always delicious.

"Here you go," he said.

When I went to pay him, he waved it off. I had no clue how the guy ever made money. He was constantly giving out free drinks to people he cared about.

"Now then, tell me what's going on.”

I took a sip of the coffee, then leaned my hip on the counter. "Well, if you want the honest truth, I'm in a bit of a pickle. My job fired me after they found out I had been looking for other work. Something about not sticking to what they had been hoping for me. Apparently, I was on the fast track to management, though no one had indicated such. Without a job,” I paused for dramatic effect, “my work visa will no longer be valid.”

Sinclair gasped, his hand pressed to his chest. "You've been working with a work visa all this time, and I had no clue?”

I nodded and took another sip of coffee as I thought of how I wanted to word things. “The short story is that I need it to stay here. Back home, I won't be accepted because I'm gay and will not settle down with so-and-so's daughter the first minute they get wind that I'm home. My mother made sure that everything was in order when she sent me here, and I've worked at the same place for so long, it felt like nothing could go wrong.”

I snorted at the irony of it all.

Sinclair bit his lip, his eyes roving over me. "Maybe I know someone. What kind of work do you do? We've talked about different things, but never really this."

I understood what he meant. I rarely told people what I did.

There were two types when it came down to it. The kind that thought my job was boring and useless, thanks to technology. And then there were the kind that was so fascinated, they would ask me to say the most mundane things in every single language I knew. Neither were really enjoyable for me.

"I'm an interpreter,” I admitted. “I know a few different languages, and my work is typically to make sure everyone in the room understands one another. I doubt you know anyone who needs that.”

Sinclair shook his head. "No, sorry, I actually don’t, which is surprising considering I know a lot of people.”

I tilted my head. “I imagine so with this business. You get to see all types.”

He agreed. A customer came in before he could say anything else, so I took my coffee over to a table to sit down. I pulled out my phone and began scrolling through job listings again. Maybe something had come up since the last time I looked. It was anyone's guess.

Before I could get too deep into my search, a shadow crossed in front of me and sat across the table. I looked up to see Sinclair there.

He leaned forward, arms pressed against the tabletop as he stared me down. “Is there any other work you do? I might have an idea, but it could be controversial.”

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