At 8 o'clock Saturday morning, I was going through the same rickety door of Mike's house. "Take a seat and wait in line," Mike's dad said as I en- tered. He turned and disappeared into his little office next to a bedroom. I looked around the room and did not see Mike any- where. Feeling awkward, I cautiously sat down next to the same two women who where there four weeks earlier. They smiled and slid across the couch to make room for me. Forty-five minutes went by, and I was steaming. The two women had met with him and left thirty minutes ear- The Rich Don't Work for Money 41 lier. An older gentleman was in there for twenty minutes and was also gone. The house was empty, and I sat out in his musty dark living room on a beautiful sunny Hawaiian day, waiting to talk to a cheapskate who exploited children. I could hear him rustling around the office, talking on the phone, and ignoring me. I was now ready to walk out, but for some reason I stayed. Finally, fifteen minutes later, at exactly 9 o'clock, rich dad walked out of his office, said nothing, and signaled with his hand for me to enter his dingy office. "I understand you want a raise or you're going to quit," rich dad said as he swiveled in his office chair. "Well, you're not keeping your end of the bargain," I blurted out nearly in tears. It was really frightening for a 9- year-old boy to confront a grownup. "You said that you would teach me if I worked for you. Well, I've worked for you. I've worked hard. I've given up my baseball games to work for you. And you don't keep your word. You haven't taught me anything. You are a crook like everyone in town thinks you are. You're greedy. You want all the money and don't take care of your em- ployees. You make me wait and don't show me any re- spect. I'm only a little boy, and I deserve to be treated better." Rich dad rocked back in his swivel chair, hands up to his chin, somewhat staring at me. It was like he was study- ing me. "Not bad," he said. "In less than a month, you sound like most of my employees." "What?" I asked. Not understanding what he was saying, I continued with my grievance. "I thought you were going 42 Rich Dad, Poor Dad to keep your end of the bargain and teach me. Instead you want to torture me? That's cruel. That's really cruel." "I am teaching you," rich dad said quietly. "What have you taught me? Nothing!" I said angrily. "You haven't even talked to me once since I agreed to work for peanuts. Ten cents an hour. Hah! I should notify the government about you. "We have child labor laws, you know. My dad works for the government, you know." "Wow!" said rich dad. "Now you sound just like most of the people who used to work for me. People I've either fired or they've quit." "So what do you have to say?" I demanded, feeling pretty brave for a little kid. "You lied to me. I've worked for you, and you have not kept your word. You haven't taught me anything.