Afsona was nineteen, and she wanted the job more than anything. The hotel was in the old part of Samarkand, five minutes from the Registan, and it needed a receptionist who spoke English.
She wrote her letter on her phone, late at night, and sent it before she could change her mind. It began like this:
dear sir, my name is afsona karimova. i am from samarkand, uzbekistan. i speak uzbek, russian and english, and i can start on monday. i hope to recieve your answer.
Two days later the letter came back. The manager, Mr Rustamov, had printed it and drawn red circles round fourteen letters and one word. At the bottom he had written: "Your English is good; your capitals are not. Try again."
Afsona was embarrassed for an hour and busy for a week. She learned that English gives a capital letter to things that Uzbek does not: to English and Uzbek, to Monday and September, and always to I. She learned "i before e, except after c", so receive and not recieve. She made a list of the words that learners misspell most: accommodation, beginning, definitely, necessary.
On Monday she took the new letter to the hotel in person.
She stopped at the door. Above it hung a large sign in gold letters: ACCOMODATION — 24 HOURS.
Then she went in, gave Mr Rustamov her letter, and said, very quietly, that the sign over his door had only one m.
He went outside and looked at it for a long time. When he came back, he was laughing.
"That sign has been there for six years," he said. "Thousands of guests have walked under it. Tour guides, teachers, two ambassadors. You are the first person who has told me."
He read her new letter, found nothing to circle, and gave her the job.
Her first task on the first day was not at the reception desk. It was a phone call to the sign-maker, and she spelt the word for him, letter by letter, twice.