⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️4.9/5
My name is Carlos, I’m 38 years old. My café is located not far from the city center, at the intersection of residential buildings and offices. The street is quite busy, but not the kind where people stop to calmly drink coffee. Rather, everyone rushes to work in the morning with a phone in hand, and no one is particularly interested in who’s standing behind the counter. If you’re thinking right now, “here’s another entrepreneur telling how everything is great for him”… I understand. I’d think the same. You probably imagine someone whose parents already left him a ready-made business. No. It wasn’t like that. My mom worked at a factory. Dad… better not to talk about it. He simply wasn’t there. I realized early what it means when there’s no money in the house. At 16 I started working. First on construction — carrying bags of cement and mixing concrete. Then at a warehouse — boxes up to the ceiling, my back was falling apart. I always had two jobs at the same time. Lived in small rooms with other guys. I almost didn’t spend the money I earned. Saved everything. Had a goal — my own business. Years passed. I met Laura. She worked as a waitress, got up at five in the morning, just like me. We talked about plans over coffee. Sofia was born — and I realized it was time. Five years ago I rented a small place. I did everything with my own hands: painted the walls at night, assembled the counter myself, bought furniture wherever I could. Part of the money was from my savings, part was debts. At first things went okay. The coffee was tasty, people came in. Not enough to get rich, but enough to live on. Then two more cafés opened on the same street — and customers started leaving. Competition became fierce. And the final blow: the coffee machine broke. The repairman came: “about 2,700 euros — either we repair it or we throw it away.” I didn’t have that money. Plus debts, electricity bills, groceries at the store… everything was pressing. One day I was standing outside smoking.
