Olive Branches Don't Grow on Trees by Grace Mattioli

with nothing
but negative responses.  She was ready to go for her second Cinnabon when she noticed a candy store that appeared to be
new to the mall.
    It
was called, Savor the Flavor, and was filled with big, plastic bins containing
a rainbow of bright, artificially colored candy.  It had everything from
gummy worms to candy corn to yogurt coated malt balls to chocolate covered
raisins.  The place was crammed with shoppers loading up little white
paper bags with candy and taking them to the register.  The cashier looked
overwhelmed and jaded at the same time and wore an electric green apron that
matched the rest of the store.  Silvia was reluctant to ask her if help
was needed because of the very uninviting expression on her face, but
approached the girl none-the-less.  The girl, in turn, called out to a man
named James, who came through a door in the back wearing a maroon suit jacket.
The dullness in his eyes made his head look as empty as a cow’s head.  He
was either the owner or the manager.
    “Hello,”
Silvia greeted him professionally, “I was wondering if you are looking for
help.”
    “As
a matter of fact, we are looking for a store manager.  What kind of
experience do you have?”  He was curt and to the point, and Silvia liked
that in a person.  She took her resume out and handed it to him.  He
took one look at her resume and blurted out, “How do you live in all these
places?”
    She
laughed, pretending to find this comment a humorous interpretation of her life,
instead of the truth.  She had a rich laugh that was just one more thing
adding to her magnetism, and after hearing it for only a few seconds, he seemed
to be impressed.   Or at least impressed enough to want
to do a small interview with her.  
    “Let’s
go sit down and talk in the office,” he said.
    She
had never had such an easy time making it to the interview stage and she
anxiously followed him while rehearsing in her head what she would say to sell
herself.  He was tall, skinny, stiff and moved like a life-sized puppet
made of wood.  He took her into the “office,” which was little more than a
broom closet jammed full of boxes of candy stacked on top of each other on some
shelves made of steel.
    They
each sat on a couple of stools parked in the center of the room.  When he
asked her if she had any managing experience, she drew upon the few times that
she had to train a new employee at her previous job at the natural foods market. 
She also talked about her opening and closing responsibilities at the art
supply shop and how she was solely responsible for the upkeep of the pottery
store.  She did not mention the fact that the pottery store was the size
of a large walk-in closet, and that, therefore, there was not much inventory to
be responsible for.  Nor did she mention that the opening and closing
responsibilities at the art supply store involved unlocking and locking the
front door of the store.  Rather, she embellished the duties of her past
jobs.  She also provided James with a brief description of the many
qualities that would be sure to add greatly to the candy store’s success. 
“I’m a fast learner, punctual, hard-working, and enthusiastic,” she said, her
eyes open wide, as if she had drunk too much coffee.  Except for the fast
learner thing, these were all lies, but she had the looks and the energy to
make anyone believe that she did possess all of these qualities and more. 
James certainly seemed convinced.  But convincing this stranger that she
was here to stay would be much more difficult than convincing him that she
would make a good candy store manager.
    “I
just purchased a mobile home only a few miles away from the mall,” she told
him.  “So, I won’t be going anywhere soon.”
    She
surprised herself at coming up with this lie.  It must have come from her
experience driving past a mobile home development this morning on the way to
the mall.  Maybe, while driving by, she subconsciously