I am 28. I’m on the 240 bus, headed to North Vancouver, the first half of my lengthy daily commute. Comedy Bang! Bang! is playing from my headphones while a woman unapologetically denigrates the strangers around her. I am the only male and the only person under 45 in my department of ten people, and everyone else assumes I’m the I.T. guy.
At 10:30am, I make my way to a nearby café. I order an americano, to go. After I’m handed my coffee, I say to the barista, “Actually, could I get a mug? I think I’ll stay.” The ruse is necessary because the drink is always delivered near scalding, and this way I can pour it bit by bit into the mug, allowing it to cool sufficiently before consumption, as I enjoy an old Where’s Waldo? book at an outdoor table.
Back at the office, I prepare to fire a man whose first couple of weeks are less-than-stellar. My boss says she’ll do it, but since I was the one who hired him, I accept the undesirable task. He almost cries as I deliver the news, and he doesn’t realize the situation is more devastating to me than him, even though he had just quit his old job for this one and also found out today that his wife is having a second child.