Wednesday morning at work: I walk from my car towards the building, my ears still ringing from the stupid-loud volume I had my car stereo set to on the way in. I’m still humming the Beatles’ “All Too Much,” a trippy-but-rocking Harrison number, my laptop bag slung across one shoulder instead of around my back messenger-style like I usually do, was just easier today.
After passing through the Orwellian badge-scanning “portal” that lets me and the rest of the arriving worker bees into the building, I break left towards the hallway that leads to the café. Past the elevators, past the ATM machines, and on into the main area where I pass the donuts, which are laid out now where the salad bar will be come lunchtime. I stop off to pick up a paper coffee cup, plastic lid, and one of those cardboard sleeves that’ll keep my hand from being burned (I was too lazy this morning to grab, clean, and reuse my Earth-friendlier cup from upstairs). Turning the corner towards the Starbucks, I chose to fill up with the stiffest, French Roast, because my normal mainstay, the Verona, has been tasting a little watered-down to me lately – I need something “extra bold” today.
A short walk to the elevator (I’m just not feeling the stairs today, even though I know they’re “good” for me) and I’m whisked up to the third floor where I make a couple turns and find my hole, identical to all the other holes but for the pictures of my wife and daughter and other personal effects pinned to the dismal gray fabric walls. I put down the large coffee, take my laptop from its bag and plug it into the big monitor, and dial into my 8am meeting as I take a cautious sip.
And so begins another day.
Also written on this day...
- pretending to remember - 2007