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Hoban was trying his best, but he had to admit he wasn’t that good at it and perhaps the fry cook opportunity at Mr. Nakamuri’s wasn’t for him. It was his second grease fire on his first day that brought Nakamuri out from his office.
“Mr. Washburne,” he hollered from across the kitchen with his thick Asian accent. “Jobs with fire are not for you. Maybe one that your name expresses you would be better suited for.”
He wanted to argue with him, to give him another chance, but Nakamuri was right. Hoban was terrible at cooking.
He was escorted to his ship. Mr. Nakamuri set up an interview at Kim Chi’s Fast and Fresh a few blocks over. Hoban would spend a week there trying to get used to his new nickname. He hated it, quitting the second he saw the ad on the wire for pilot school. He was pretty good with the little shuttle he had. And either way he couldn’t be any worse at flying than he was at cooking. Wash went home and packed up his dinosaurs, taking his suitcase and his shuttle and leaving in that moment, hoping that this new decision wasn’t the mistake of his lifetime.