June 6, 2000

They are trying to freeze me out of the office. They just are. It is 55 degrees outside, in is raining in a way that has been described as torrential by weathermen and lay people alike, and the air conditioning is on full blast. They are trying to freeze me out of my job.

And, for an hour today, that is just what they did. Because, y'know, they pick the one week with the scummiest weather to close the company cafeteria "for renovations." Renovations. Whatever. I have a feeling I will not be able to tell the difference, except that, oh, I dunno, the prices will have doubled. I will now be able to get some cream of turkey soup for $3.00, as opposed to $1.50. Which is still cheaper than going to the diner, which they know, and thus, they have us by the balls.

So, I was forced to go out for lunch. On what I feel confident in saying was the wettest day of the year. And you know that means there were Umbrella People. Oh, oh yes, there were Umbrella People. And, even though they were quite justified in using umbrellas today -- even though yours truly succumbed to the lure of the Totes and wielded a spokey awning on a stick -- this didn't make the experience any less torturous. Goddamn if people would just tilt their umbrellas out of my face. Seriously. If anything drives me over the edge and into adult onset therapy, this, my friend, will be the thing.

I wasn't even really that hungry, I just wanted to go somewhere warm. To that end, I thought soup might not be a totally misinformed idea. Had there been a normal little diner within ten feet or so of my building, I would've been as close to happy as I was going to get today. However, there was not. The closest all-purpose eating establishment was a full east/west block away. That is just too far. So, instead, I passed up all the fast-food joints on 5th Ave. and decided to try out the Brooklyn Bagel Cafe. They looked soupy. Also, people were not even hesitating in removing their coats -- and you just know 75% of the women were underdressed (welcome to tourist season in New York on an unseasonably cold June (June!) day). I took this as a sign that they did indeed have heat. Sweet, unconditional heat. Were this a happy day in mid-May, I would mention that this should not be confused with the Heat, but it is a sad day in early June (June!), so I will not.

I walk in and immediately decide that I am staying there all day. So warm! I'm sure you all think I'm overreacting, but my office was a veritable meat locker, which had only a little to do with the fact that it houses several fashion magazines. I am always cold, but today, everyone was cold. Just, y'know, to clarify.

I got some mushroom barley soup, even though I don't really like mushrooms. My other choices were the aforementioned cream of turkey, which is just wrong on so many levels, not the least of which is I can't help picturing a turkey being plunged head first into a blender set to puree, and chicken noodle, which, while I always like in theory, never fails to leave me supremely unsatisfied. So, the process of elimination left me with mushroom. Which actually turned out okay, as there weren't so many mushrooms in it after all. Unless by mushrooms, you mean potatoes.

I sat down at a table upstairs, still giddy with the realization that I had stopped shivering, and noticed a teenage boy and his lunch. On his tray was a rather generous helping of what a friend of mine refers to as insta-deli sushi, and next to that were two cellophane-encased sandwiches of epic proportions. Two. A 20-ounce bottle of Coke rounded out the meal. I was in awe. Absolute awe. Is this how boys eat? The kid was a stick. I looked down at my soup -- my stark and lonely soup -- and back at what could've been his generous donation to Feed the Children. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Damn fickle metabolism gods.

Then some suits, one male, one female, sat next to me, and proceeded to shake their umbrellas just enough to get me, and only me, wet. Nice. Then, they put those same umbrellas, still wet, not on the floor -- for they were too good for the floor -- but on a chair at another table. A chair that most likely would be used to hold someone's ass in the near future. Sure, we can all pretend that the suits would wipe off the chair when they left. We can also pretend that as soon as I'm done writing this, I'm off to have some scorchingly hot sex. Oh, the things we can pretend. I have the metabolism of a 16-year-old boy.

So, yeah. I finished my soup, basked in the 70 degree temperature of the room for a good half-hour longer than I should have, and then swam back to the office. Elijah, by the way, has not given me any cookies this week. Not only that, but today he was asking me how he should break up with his girlfriend. His girlfriend. Well, I never.

Still. They're breaking up.

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