I get a cup of coffee and blow across the skin of the liquid, suck it through my teeth. The phone rings. It's Tim. Yeah, my numbers aren't what they were a year ago, but hey, I don't control the market. It's going to pick up because that's the nature of the market. I know it and the pricks upstairs know it. I laugh. Tim laughs.
Some girl walks by to deliver the mail. She provides me with cell phone bills and courier packages from Prague. I wave in her direction and point. Any idiot knows it means leave it on my desk. I rest my wingtips on the edge of the recyclable bin under my desk. I don't use it; recycling is lame.
I make plans with Tim to hang out at the new bar across town. He can be my wing man I tell him. We meet Tiffany and Brittney who drink white wine spritzers. I drink vodka over ice with a slice of lime to seem non-threatening but manly. Tim settles on piss water draft. Really? Tap? Bad choice buddy.
I make out with Tiffany after midnight, after I've flashed my dimple to let her know I'm straight. She lets me slip my hand under her shirt. They're real. She sees it as a sign I like her, gives me her number. I won't call. Any girl that lets me get to first base in a bar isn't my type. Tim didn't close the deal with Brittney. Loser.
It's Monday again. I'm on the phone. I cup my hand over my mouth, tell Tim she wasn't 'all that' but hey I had a good time, he had a good time. Let's do it again Friday. He says he's busy. Whatever. I slurp my coffee into his ear. I rest my Italian loafers on the empty recyclables bin, balance them on the thin edge of the plastic.
The girl who brings me my mail is standing in front of me. She's got a cardboard box. I wave, which any jerk knows I mean go away. She doesn't move. I look up. My boss is behind her. He asks me to hang up. He says he has something to tell me.
published 27 February 2013