— You wanted to see me? — asked James, stepping into his boss’s office.
— Yes, — nodded the boss. — You’re heading to the capital urgently. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be speaking at the board meeting. Pick up the speech from the secretary.
— Why me again? — James exclaimed, exasperated. — I’m not a director, and it’s not my job. Besides, I’ve got tickets to the hockey game. Tomorrow, our team’s playing against the Capitals at the arena.
— Tough luck, — the boss smirked. — Work comes before your hockey. And that’s an order. Got it?
— Fine… — James nodded glumly. — What about the ticket?
— Return your hockey ticket, and that’s that!
— I meant the ticket for the trip. Who’s buying it? My card’s empty.
— What plane? — the boss chuckled again. — Your train, as usual, leaves tonight. Third-class carriage. Get the ticket from the secretary.
— Why third-class again? Always third-class! I want a sleeper compartment! I’m going to an important meeting, representing you, by the way.
— A sleeper’s too fancy for you, — the boss grinned. — Besides, single guys like you do better in third-class. Easier to meet girls. If you were married, I’d send Thompson, but his wife’s pregnant again, of course. All you’ve got is hockey. Now go, grab your speech, and memorize it. Don’t make our company look bad.
That evening, dressed in a sharp suit and crisp white shirt, James sat in his third-class train seat by the aisle, heading to the capital.
In the town of Greendale, the train made its usual stop. James, as usual, was sipping tea brought by the train attendant, planning to make his bed, change, and sleep.
But at the worst possible moment, as he lifted the glass in its metal holder to his lips, the train lurched violently. A young woman passing by lost her balance and crashed right onto James.
— Oh, come on, miss! — he shouted. — You can’t just fall on me like that!
Truth be told, James wasn’t yelling because she fell on him but because she’d spilled his entire tea all over his pristine white shirt. That was the real tragedy.
— Oh, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, — the woman flailed helplessly in his lap, while James was on the verge of tears.
The commotion roused the other passengers, who immediately started grumbling:
— What’s going on?!
— Someone could get hurt!
— What kind of conductors do we have? Can’t they start the train smoothly?
— What am I supposed to do now? — James groaned, looking at the woman with pitiful outrage. She’d managed to stand, frozen in guilt as she realized the mess she’d caused. — I’ve got an important meeting at eight tomorrow morning. How am I supposed to show up in this shirt? They’ll fire me!
Hearing this, the entire carriage crowded closer, staring at James.
— Hey, kid, call the attendant, — suggested a lively older woman. — She can wash your shirt and iron it dry all night since they can’t drive properly.
— What’s that? What’s going on? — The attendant appeared in the aisle. — Why’s everyone gathered? What happened?
— Look at this poor guy! — the older woman pounced. — Because of you, this girl fell on him and spilled tea all over his shirt. And he’s got an important meeting in the morning!
The attendant sized James up.
— He should be glad it was a girl who fell on him and not some guy. No one drinks tea in dress shirts. Smart people are already in their pajamas.
— He’ll file a complaint if you don’t wash his shirt! — the woman shot back.
— Let him file it. I’m not a laundress. Not my fault we’ve got a trainee conductor today. Alright, passengers, disperse and get ready for bed!
Slowly, the crowd shuffled away, the attendant dimmed the lights, and the carriage quieted down.
James barely slept that night, lying awake, agonizing over how to salvage this disaster. Eventually, he decided to try buying a new shirt at the station, though he knew it was likely a lost cause.
At six in the morning, the train pulled into the capital’s station.
As James stepped onto the platform, the young woman who’d spilled the tea suddenly appeared beside him.
— Sir, — she said timidly, — come with me.
— Where? — James blinked, confused. — I need to find a new shirt, and you’re asking me to go somewhere.
— I have a bunch of men’s white shirts at home.
— A bunch? — James stared, incredulous. — Your husband’s? Or do you sell shirts?
— No, — she smiled. — They’re my brother’s. He got married recently and moved out from Mom and me.
— Really? — James perked up. — What size?
— They’ll fit you. He left some suits too. Your jacket’s got a tea stain too, you know. I couldn’t sleep all night, worrying about you. It’s all my fault. Please forgive me…
— It’s not your fault, — James gave a wry smile. — How far do you live? I need to be at 123 Union Street by eight.
— We’ll make it.
P.S. The meeting went well for James. But he only returned to his company a week later, and only to submit his resignation before heading back to the capital. To the woman who’d fallen into his lap, thanks to a trainee conductor. Or, more accurately, thanks to fate…
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