Minneapolis -5minutefreewrite (x3)

I turned. Mr Hallaron walked over. He'd put his hat on and was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

He lit one and puffed it in my face. "Welcome to Minneapolis, Kid. Keep your head down, and you're gonna be fine." I coughed. He had such a gravelly voice, I worried for his health. "You've been telling me about what a hard worker you were on the farm, tell you what, I have a friend who runs a restaurant. I'll get you a job there washing dishes. You just do your job and sleep, and no one'll bother you."

"I came to Minneapolis to get an education, Mr. Halloran. How can I do that if I'm just sleeping and washing dishes?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha. An education comes to us all sooner or later, might as well work until you know things." Mr. Halloran sneered, then sucked his cigarette all the way down to the filter and put it out with his fingertips. He then shoved it in his coat pocket.

Mr. Halloran's cryptic insistence that I didn't need to seek out an education, that an education would come to me, was not what I was looking for.

The doors slid open soundlessly, revealing the complete and utter chaos that I had been sent to fix.
Dishes were piled on top of smaller dishes. There was soap caked onto the countertop. This wasn't a restaurant. This was a graveyard for food. Carty slapped a dishrag in my hand. "Good lord, Smanky, you're late. I'd spend some time teaching you the job, but there's no time. How on earth did you wind up so late on your first day? I thought farm kids rose early."

I shook my head, trying to hold back tears. I had never been chastised for being late before. I thought it took some time for folks to eat, so I wouldn't need to come wash dishes until the restaurant had been open for a while. I forgot about the dishes that the cooks cook with. Also, maybe last nights dishes were there? I couldn't tell, there were just SO MANY dishes. I walked to the pile of dishes... I couldn't figure out where to begin. There was no soap except for what was caked onto the countertop. The sink was so full, I couldn't reach the faucet, and all these dishes were precariously perched.

The phone began to ring.
I let it. I couldn't face another day of dishwashing. I was quitting. I was quitting Minneapolis and going back home. Maybe I'd be able to just learn from the folks who went away to college and had come back. I couldn't face another day of these impatient people demanding I scrape food. Lots of food. Like, is this where all the corn goes? One forkful into the mouth, the rest into the trash. Not even a compost heap or a pig pile, just trash, like those styrofoam peanuts that come in the box when you get a precious moments doll.

The phone kept ringing. I figured they would have given up on me by now. Surely some more resilient dupe would wash their dishes for them. They couldn't be trying this hard to get the boy they had only met once to come wash their dishes some more.

I picked up the phone. "Smanky Tyler Rosenbloom here."

A middle-aged woman's voice, with a slight Viking twang surprised me from the other end, "Yes, I know who I'm calling."

For https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/the-weekend-freewrite-7-14-2018-part-3-the-dramatic-twist