Green Card US in Stories The immigrant create a small baker business in New York – life-story

The immigrant create a small baker business in New York – life-story

Be afraid to dream, dreams tend to come true. I was able to verify the truth of these words on my own life experience.
Once upon a time, I dreamed of driving a car through New York. Enter Manhattan by the Brooklyn Bridge. With a breeze rush along the highway FDR, catching windshield reflections of shop windows and windows of skyscrapers. Carelessly park at Starbucks and take coffee and beagle “to go.”

Lean back in the driver’s seat, switch the radio station and feel with all nature – I’m in New York! This is my city!

For 2 years I have been doing every day. I meet the sunrise over the East River, I greet friendly workers with around-the-clock coffee houses and know all the free parking lots below Canal Street like my own five fingers. All this was given to me by my new profession. The profession of the sales representative for the bread company.

What is it and what it eats – read further.

In the US it’s very easy to make money. Not in the sense of becoming a millionaire, but just making a living. The state comes to meet those who want to have a small, but a constant piece of American pie, giving enterprising people numerous business opportunities. Garbage collection, repairs, and construction. Trade and services – everywhere you can find your niche, which, although it will not take you to the top of the “Forbes” rating, but will provide a permanent workplace.

Bread business is one of the confirmations of this rule. So, there is a large company that has been baking bread for many years.

He is in demand, sells well and brings profit to the company. The company is profitable and not averse to letting others make money on their product.
Therefore, it delegates the authority to distribute its products to so-called independent operators. These are people who buy bread from the company, and then sell it to stores. Of which, in fact, a loaf of white or whole-grain and falls on the table of an ordinary American. In this chain, there was a place for me. But first things first.

My first acquaintance with the “bread work” was unsuccessful. The early autumn morning I went on a route with my friend. Then I still did not think to do this business.

Rather, I went for general development. I did not understand very well what was happening, and the dreary rain did not give the Brooklyn shops all the charm, which, moreover, was mainly from the rear. It’s no wonder that from the middle of the route I “jumped” off, wandering around the alleys of the famous Brooklyn graveyard Greenwood.

Cozy crypts and well-groomed lawns in the uninhabited realm of the dead caused melancholy and the thought that even recently I, a successful Ukrainian journalist, could not think of looking for work that was not connected with the media. But the truth, as they say, is more strange than any fiction. So I soon returned to the grain store.

Tell me how your workday begins, and I’ll tell you who you are. There is no such saying, but it would be worthwhile to think of it.

My working day begins with the smell of freshly baked bread. This is actually one of the best smells in the world. In it, everything is awakening from a dream, the beginning of a new day, the anticipation of a drink of strong morning coffee. If fresh bread is baked, it means that life goes on, the pendulum of the universal clock continues its waveform, and the heart beats, filling the blood vessels.

I was lucky that I was always easy enough to get up early. Probably helped the enthusiasm of fishing, and maybe my grandmother’s bedroom, in which I woke up as a child.

Her window looked exactly to the east, and the very first day of the sun always made its way through the curtains to wake me up and start counting the next day of a happy childhood.

It was more difficult to learn how to drive a truck through narrow Manhattan streets and park it in such a way that you do not get fines and get to the store within two blocks. It took time to remember that representatives of different ethnic groups prefer different sorts of bread, and on certain holidays, in general, it is not eaten.

But against the backdrop of this, it was not at all difficult to stop thinking that I had recently worked as a reporter on television, I rarely bought bread and did not hold anything in my hands heavier than a microphone at work. To master a new, albeit not so prestigious profession at the age of forty – became a kind of challenge for me.

A good reporter should be a good amateur in a variety of issues. After making a report from the steel plant, you need at least in general terms to understand what is happening there. And removing the plot of heart surgery, it is necessary to imagine what coronary artery bypass grafting is.

Probably, for the first time, I wanted to understand the new profession thoroughly – at all stages. Learning to do a good job. Like every day to shoot a story on the same topic – but it’s better and more virtuosic. An original quest. The reality show with yourself in the lead role.

The price for “getting along” in which is a low rating of own earnings and the threat to remain without “ether” – that is, without work.

Today I can say for sure – I did it. I even think to become the owner of one of the bread routes, although never in my life I had a craving for business.

But two years I was changed in emigration. And they convinced that it was no worse than supplying people with freshly baked bread, than fried facts. No offense, fellow journalists. Do not say the former, because there are no former in this profession.

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