Add
crap coffee to remains of Starbucks Venti, double shot, skim
milk latte. Check voice mail. Seven messages. Hang up. Decide
to deal with that later.
Google
hot guy from weekend party. Two “Brad Barnett’s” in
Cincinnati. One is accountant the other dead in 1974. As seem
to remember guy from party is in advertising or something like
that, think maybe his name was “Brad Bartlett” – hard
to know as was over served Old Fashioned’s. What the
hell is in Old Fashioned anyhow?
Google “Old
Fashioned” cocktail. Hmm. Interesting. 2 oz. Whiskey
or Bourbon, Splash of Simple Syrup, Bitters & Soda. Fill
rocks glass with ice. Add simple syrup, bitters, liquor & soda,
Garnish with an orange slice and cherry, For Muddled variation:
Muddle orange slice & cherry in bottom of rocks, glass,
with simple syrup, bitters, add liquor & splash of soda.
Cut
and paste recipe and send it to Angie with Subject line. Old
Fashioned Fucking Hangover! Ha ha. Figure email filter will
think it is porn. Delete “Fucking” and write “Freaking.” Send.
Take
much, much, much time to delete 127 junk emails. Bounce back
email to stupid, impatient client saying “I’ll
get it to you this afternoon. It got held up downstairs with
accounting. Hope you had a good weekend!” Fuckface.
Close
office door to visit horny teen web site to see Angel who just
likes to fu*ck and isn’t interested in love. Get slightly
aroused. Wonder if lesbian.
Google “Brad
Bartlett.” Eighty million hits. Narrow search with advertising
and Cincinnati. Fuck. Nothing. Oh well. Probably a loser. Go
look at Angel again.
Email
Jim Smith aka boss. “Have quick question re: Mason account.
Client eager for response. Let me know when I can stop in to
chat.” Send. Fill in time sheet as this is actual client
work.
Check
out New York Post Page Six and play favorite game. WHICH divorced
A-list actor has a nasty anger management problem? After an
argument with his wife, which Hollywood hothead got in his
brand-new $150,000 sports car and repeatedly crashed it into
the side of the house until it was totaled? Too easy. Alec
Baldwin.
Delete
four more spam emails. None from Angie. Hold down ??? key until
subject line fills up. Send.
As
no email from boss, try calling. Get voice mail. Leave extremely
perky message re: client meeting. “Hey, I’m not
trying to stalk you but have a quick question about the Mason
situation. Give me a shout when you get a chance.” Hang
up. Consider checking messages. Decide nicotine levels far
too low.
Refill
crap coffee. Drink outside while smoking. Ignore Jorge from
underwriting as, while smoker, is also major stalker-type/asshole.
Stop
in bathroom to check forehead as always way more wrinkles in
work light than home light. Raise and lower eyebrows and wonder
if will miss ability to do so after inevitable Botox treatment.
Consider masturbating like Angel. Chicken out. Go back to desk.
Check
messages. Now nine of them. Four from colleagues with stupid
questions and five from clients. Including very, very angry
Mason ingrate.
Write
Angie again. “What a nightmare day! Already exhausted.
Meet me at mall for lunch. I’ll be in Food Court or T.J.
Saks.” Send.
Write
J. Smith. “Am off to grab a quick bite as afternoon shaping
up to be a killer and will likely have to stay late. I’ll
stop by your office to see if I might catch you after lunch.” Send.
Tell
Alessa, slut receptionist, am leaving for lunch. Ignore “okey
dokey” and lipstick on her teeth. Walk out. Walk back
in. Ask her if Mr. Smith is in today. She says, “Didn’t
you know? He’s in Florida for a week. But he is checking
messages.” Say “okey dokey.” Exit.
Get
in car. Light cigarette. Realize can further torture Mason
idiots with lack of information due to unforeseen absence of
boss and now with long lunch ahead, think today is pretty good
day for a workday. Exhale. Smile.
