Missed Connections

Her skin looked perfect from a far; not a blemish, nor a scar. Stunning brunette hair blowing elegantly in the wind, walking that perfect waist-to-hip ratio of approximately 2:3 down the opposite sidewalk from me – everything is now in slow motion.

I was the finance guy in skinny chinos and brown loafers. She, a Latina living in the fashion district, and I, speechless and overwhelmed, missed by a mere 40 feet. She walked in to a small Bodega [which are both cute and bountiful in this part of town] in all probability to buy fresh fruit and other delicious, yet unsophisticated, items. She had conceivably not been tainted by big city living. And that was the most beautiful part about her.

I pictured us, together, on a Sunday late-autumn afternoon walking our golden retriever through the park, warm cider in hand.

Symmetrical Girl from Kensington Market, how I want to meet you! I want you to come with me to my firm’s Christmas party. I want you to make fun of me, and tell me “I’m coming over” without actually being invited. I want you to enjoy the opulent lifestyle I can provide for you.
Send me an e-mail [I check it often!] and we’ll watch the beautiful sparks fly together when we meet and get along flawlessly.

So You Wanna be a WACC Superstar?

There he was, sitting... waiting... wishing? Probably not. My tardiness was excused following an appropriate introduction and an implied summary of my typical 11 hour day at the firm. (aside: random tip#43- when engaging conversation with someone of prestige, always convey to them how hard of a worker you are, without actually saying it).

Shit, I forgot to mention whom I was meeting and the circumstances of which. A colleague from a downtown finance firm referred me to Mr. Peter Stern (not real name), as he was looking for bright young talent in private/small business assurance. A dinner at a local italian restaurant was arranged and here we are.

I eyed him up and down, quickly noting his exquisite style- gold watch, gold cufflinks, dark blue 3 piece suit, most definately custom-fabriced and tailored, because this guy was much bigger than your typical housecat. My best estimate would be three hundred and fifty three pounds- every single unit of which was undoubtedly eaten by him from expensive meals in the past- I questioned whether or not he was flaunting this and trying to get bigger, or just lazy- I'm thinking the former.

The preliminary portion of our discussion was centered, obviously, around materials. To mention- his mansion in rockcliffe park, his 2 Beamers, a Mercedes, his 1500+ bottle wine cellar with its own computerized catologuing system, his recent trip to Africa in which he took his beau for a sunrise balloon tour of the Serengeti, his daughter who has a PhD in neurological science (whom he didn't comment on appearance, but I'm sure she's a knock out).

With all this talk, in my head, I started to think about Cypress Hill.

So this is what they were talking about? I started to think about what business is really about- materials? Is that it? Is it all about BMWs, Franck Muller watches, Burberry socks, and exotic trips? Do I really put in 12-15 hour days so I can someday own a bunch of shit I don't need and listen to Cypress Hill?

You're goddamned right. And I love every fucking minute.