Page 5 of The Chef

“I’m looking to get a small business loan,” I reply. “Please.”

I have to add something pleasant. I hope it helps, but the banker doesn’t react to my please.

He’s like a robot. Cold and calculating.

This is who decides my future?

“And what small business do you intend on starting with this potential loan?”

My nerves really kick in now. I know they say it feels like butterflies in your stomach. Well, right now, it’s like there’s a whole greenhouse of butterflies trying to escape my insides.

“A baking company.”

My voice comes out as a teeny tiny whimper. The banker blinks, not hearing me properly. I realize how super small my voice must’ve come out as.

“Pardon?”

“A baking company,” I repeat a little louder, stumbling over the words. The banker seems unimpressed by my application. Or confused. I don’t know which. I know I’ll need to explain more. “I want to start a baking company with the loan. I love baking, it’s my passion. Well, food’s my passion really. Any time of food or cooking I just love. I really think I can make a good go out of this. I’ve had a lifetime of rocky starts and even rockier employments in so many places, so I thought why not, you know? Why not become a baker? It’s what I’m good at. You can see I’ve got everything in there in those papers. A whole plan. Everything. I’ve done a step-by-step plan to make a successful business, just you look. I think I can make a really good go.”

Well, that all came out in one hurried one-breath sentence.

Stop blathering on, you idiot. It isn’t going to help.

For precise, concise, and to-the-point pitch speeches, I think that was the worst one in the history of pitches.

But I hope it does the trick.

Hope.

Every word I said was true, though. I love cooking and baking, and I really do think I can make a successful go out of it. Sure, I’ve never opened or run a business ever in my life, but this is something I’m super passionate about. Something I really believe will succeed. I’ve got the drive, and the energy, and the passion.

I just need the money.

I need this loan.

Please give me this loan, Mr. Banker.

Without a single word of reply to my verbal diarrhea of a pitch, the banker begins speed-reading through my documents page-by-page, flicking through each one so quickly it sets off those stomach butterflies again. I try to discern his expression, but the man is unreadable. It’s a pretty good skill to have as the person who decides people’s entire futures on a whim. What will he do about mine?

The banker lifts up the full glass of water that’s been sitting on the counter to his lips and takes a sip as he continues reading.

This is unbearable. I can’t take this suspense.

I bite my lip.

And then the bank’s door slams shut behind me with a bang. I turn and look.

It’s Superman.

He’s back.

And, judging from the heavy frown on his face, he doesn’t look happy. Not happy at all that I’ve taken his place. Not happy that he has to now wait for me to finish.

Well, tough. Karma’s a bitch.

I watch him as he steps to the ropes that separate me - and the banker - from the line. Superman taps his foot impatiently.

I quickly turn back to the banker. He doesn’t notice Henry Cavill’s return, or he doesn’t care. He’s too busy thumbing through my documents to worry about customers.