Just when I was contemplating chugging the bottle of whiskey Mr. Robinson had gifted me for the third time, Jordan and Abby knocked.
"Abby and I wanted to come by and congratulate you on your presentation. How did it go?" Jordan asked from the doorframe.
"Terribly. He said Hong Kong was too unsafe compared to other countries like Japan—he must have spent five minutes straight praising their whiskey! I don't know why I complimented his Tennessee whiskey if I'd known it would put his mind on booze the entire time. I feel like my hard work was for nothing."
"Welcome to our world," Abby sighed. "What's the adage again, 'life is like a box of chocolates?' That's our work here, except I got stuck with all the caramel ones."
"I love caramel," I said reassuringly. "Haven't you ever had one of those caramel apples at the fair, you know, the ones that are so sticky you think they'll rip your teeth out?"
"Is it car-a-mel or car-mel?" Jordan asked. "Why does everyone here think it's two syllables?"
"More importantly than that, why have you been so gloomy today, Mike? You need a break," Abby declared.
I was pretty sure it was car-mel with two syllables, but I'd never thought about it before. Two felt natural.
"I've been craving a burger," I said. "I should go get myself a pity dinner."
"You should! I'm going out tonight too to drown my sorrows."
"Wish I could join you. I'm gonna head back and get some work done. Don't stay too late, Mike," Jordan said.
"Do you actually want a pity dinner?" Abby asked once Jordan left. "I'll be downtown anyway—I'd invite you to drinks, but I think you and that whiskey bottle have a date."
"Sure, Abby. Tomorrow's the weekend, I can treat myself a little."
"TGIF, am I right? Meet me at my office at 6:30."
Abby's office was greener than mine thanks to the potted plants she kept on her desk next to a spray bottle and a lamp. She didn't have a window, but not many of us new hires did.
"The lamp turns itself on when I turn the ceiling light off," she explained, and flicked off the light to demonstrate.
"Aren't you worried about wasting power?"
"With how much power the servers drain in the basement, what's one lamp? They've been so loud today, I can feel the vibrations through my floor."
"I haven't noticed."
"By the way, Heather's joining us. You know Heather, right?"
"I sent her an email earlier!"
"That makes you besties."
She swapped her high heels back to Converses, and we walked to the lobby, where Heather was already waiting for us.
"I saw your email, Mike, but I'll respond Monday—oh my gosh, Abby, I love that coat on you! That gray matches your bag and lipstick so well. Is that dark cherry? I think I saw that in the store the other day," Heather burst out in one breath.
"I know, right? I feel so C-suite."
"It's a good look on you. It's like, who's that actress... Michelle Yeoh?" Heather observed. "That's like the exact shade I saw at Saks last weekend."
"The dark cherry? I think they called it something else. Something Italian."
I was happy letting them talk as we walked downtown past the giggling college students and the streetlamps' shadows, since I could see our destination: a burger with golden buns dimpled like grandma's smile, a disk of pure muscle that had just finished sizzling, a slice of tomato that dripped with nature's bounty, and I could hear the crunch of the lettuce as I leaned in, dumbfounded except to moan in delicious ecstasy—
YOU ARE READING
TGIF
General FictionMike Burbank, fresh out of college, believes that a cheery smile and bottomless drawer of fun socks is enough to keep him going at his new career at Infinitech. While all his friends find the work soul-sucking, Mike refuses to let his neighborhood f...
