Still Last Valentine’s Day

Away from the cacophony of the downtown hustle and bustle, Taylor pressed into his last pose. He exhaled slowly and returned to child’s pose. He listened to the rhythmic, soothing forest noises over the sound system. The instructor recited some words of wisdom from Confucius, or a tea bag, or some other equally wise and culturally ambiguous source. Taylor murmured a reverent NAHMAHSTAY as he left the sweaty room, bowling deeply as he exited. His yoga mat and 3 sweat drenched towels lay on the floor. Honestly, he didn’t have time to deal with them if he wanted to get one of the last Acai-Pomegranate-Blueberry recharge shakes. He rushed his shower, not even taking the time to style his hair, and dressed quickly in his Brooks Brothers suit. Running past the cleaning lady and nearly knocking her to the ground as he rounded the corner, he made eye contact with the smoothie stand attendant. ‘If he knows what’s good for him’, Taylor thought, ‘he’ll remember our deal’. Sure enough, he had an APB smoothie waiting for him. Taylor huffed and puffed as he pulled out his wallet.

“That’ll be $7.25,” the attendant said. Taylor pulled out a crisp, purple $10 bill and smiled at the attendant.

“You know what? You keep those quarters,” Taylor beamed, holding his hand out for his toonie. He picked up his smoothie from the counter, nearly knocking over the tip jar stuffed with bills, and walked away beaming ear to ear. ‘What a nice thing to do’ he thought to himself, thinking how few people would take the time out of their day to tip their smoothie guy. ‘And 75 cents? That’s more than 10%! That’s more than I tip waiters. That kid must be through the roof.’ He tried to hold onto his high, because as soon as he got back up to the office, it was back to the drudgery of his work day. He braved the 3 minutes of frigid February air on his face, pushing past someone to jump through the open door first. Like he was going to wait for that asshole with a cane? Canes haven’t been cool since 1999 – what a douchebag. He sauntered into the lobby and slurped his smoothie loudly as he waited for an elevator. A woman walked up next to him, also waiting for the elevator. He not so subtly checked out her figure, which he approved of, and when she sent him a sideways glare, he beamed, “TGIF, am I right?” She exhaled sharply and said something about taking the stairs. ‘Good for her’, Taylor thought, watching her hips sway as she walked away at a brisk pace. ‘It’s so great that the women at this company are so fitness oriented. I swear, almost every woman I’ve ever seen waiting for the elevator decides to take the stairs instead. Maybe that’s why we don’t hire fatties? Or maybe we do and I just never see them because they’re too busy shame eating at their desks. Ha! Classic Tay-tay. That is so going in my blog’. The elevator arrived and he stepped inside, slurping his way up to the top floor alone.

“Sign, stamp, file. Sign, stamp, file. Sign, sign, sign. Stamp, stamp, stamp. File, file, file,” Taylor sang to himself to no discernible tune whatsoever. He didn’t exactly understand what he was signing, or where the files ended up, but after his grandfather had passed on a huge chunk of the company to him, he thought it was only right to learn the ropes from the inside out. That, and the lawyers said something about there being a clause about him working a mandatory 5 years at the company in an entry level job before he got access to the signing rights… but really, it was all about the experience. He was almost done his fifth year and he almost entirely understood what the company did: it owned a lot of other smaller companies. On his desk, his cell phone buzzed. ‘I’ve been at work for an hour since I took yoga-lunch; I deserve a break,’ he thought. ‘It’s not like the McDonalds crew never slacks off a bit’. He thoughtfully scrolled through a social feed of indeterminate colour and origin. ‘Not that I actually know what they do at McDonalds. That is definitely not clean eating’. He then entered an hour long stupor of scrolling and laughing vacantly, stopping only to accept some files from his friend Naomi in accounting. Their mid-afternoon socializing was interrupted by a text from her ex who needed to borrow some crutches because they broke their leg. ‘That poor guy! He probably slipped on some ice,’ Taylor thought sympathetically. The last thing he did before he went back to work was read a text from his roommate. One of his friends had an ex who was a model, and she tripped in her heels and broke her leg. Laughing to himself at how clever he was, he sent off a Twat about models being too dumb to walk and think at the same time. Good ol’ Vishnu, he always had something for an afternoon laugh.

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