CHINATOWN

It was frightening, to consider of all the things he did not know. The fact was, he never really had a job before. In college, he studied sculpture. His youthfulness did not realize the world was not going to come to him.

A temp agency had sent him to a grand, old department store, across from Union Square, in San Francisco. He had no experience.

Together with seven Chinese kids, they would do inventory in a stockroom on the top floor.

The view was magnificent. They did not have palm trees in the Midwest. The young sculptor noticed; rich people had a particular fondness for things; he knew he would never need.

By noon they had accomplished very little but had become very hungry. Everyone put down their pencils and clipboards and took the creaky service elevator to the ground floor. They were a group of kids cutting down alleys and taking shortcuts through stores. Their happy voices made conversations and they spoke as if they were excited about living.

Not so surprisingly, they arrived at the gates of Chinatown. All the buildings seemed pressed together like the shiny skin of ducks hanging, gleaming and glowing. They entered a building, ran up 4 flights of narrow, twisting stairs, dodging annoyed waiters and cooks gesturing angrily. Reaching the top floor, they walked across rooftops, under lines of laundry and entered another building. Through the noisy chaos, smells of fish and garbage, they descended 3 more flights of stairs, to a table set for eight.

There were no menus, and no one spoke English. He only really knew one Chinese dish to order.

Noodles.

It was the best bowl of noodles he would ever eat in his life. Actually, he ordered the same thing for the next 4 days.

Sometimes not knowing is the key to learning.