Months later, Wei received a message from the hospitality group. He was being asked to attend an international partnership meeting. The lead coordinator would be someone from the company's new global guest relations team.
Wei entered the conference room. He looked down at the schedule, then stopped. The name at the top of the page was Darius Bennett.
Wei slowly looked up. The door opened. Darius walked in. He wore a dark suit—no waiter uniform, no order pad, no wet shirt. He extended his hand. "Mr. Chen."
Wei stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "Darius."
They shook hands. Neither mentioned the glass; neither needed to.
Wei sat down. Darius opened the meeting, and when the first international client joined the call, Darius greeted them in their language. Then another, then another. Wei watched, not with embarrassment this time, but with something closer to respect.
After the meeting, Wei stopped him. "You were always this good?"
Darius smiled. "No."
Wei nodded. "You worked for it."
"Yes."
Wei looked toward the window. "I suppose that's different." Darius didn't answer. Wei turned back. "I owe you another apology."
Darius looked at him. "For what?"
"For assuming that because you were serving me, you were beneath me."
Darius was quiet, then said, "That's not an assumption you should make about anyone."
Wei nodded. "I know." And this time, he meant it.
Three years after the incident, Darius stood inside a community center on Chicago's South Side. There were 12 teenagers sitting at folding tables. Some were immigrants, some were children of immigrants, and some simply wanted to learn another language. Darius had started a free evening language program with money from his salary and help from several colleagues. There were no expensive classrooms, no polished marble floors—just whiteboards, donated laptops, notebooks, and young people who wanted opportunities they couldn't afford.
One boy raised his hand. "How many languages do you speak?"
Darius smiled. "Eight."
The room reacted exactly as he expected. A few students laughed. Someone whispered, "No way."
Darius laughed too. "I'm serious."
The boy grinned. "Which one's your favorite?"