(Redux)
So when I am sent back in time to warn my past self about some impending doom, instead I will say this: do not be in a rush to get to that corporate job.
* * *
It was one those corporate Mondays. The lazy river of a Sunday night drifting unconsciously into the waking hours of a new day. A busy weekend is the worst in this instance because there is no time to digest, no time to admire the scenery. The river just turns the bend and is gone, on. You don’t remark on how the time has flown, you are used to it by now, the week’s punctuation is never an ellipsis…
Hard stop. Back to work. Broken up by “How was your weekend?”s are the catching up on emails, or the completing of tasks that you neglected like school lessons at the beginning of summer.
The hum of the printers contrast with the clicking of silverware from a Sunday brunch; print jobs and pancakes; ink and syrup. There are still people in slacks though, moving back and forth, a procession without the pomp and circumstance, just the circumstances of another corporate Monday.
Mixed drinks in the pantry. Coffee, sugar, milk or cream. The baby straws to stir. I’ll just have water. Some things never change.
You don’t two-step to the sounds of CNN Money or MSNBC. You just play hopscotch in the hallways on the way to the bathroom.
You have practice with the timing. You pay for being late. Ladies Free Before 11. Everyone at their desks by 8:45.
What makes it one of those Mondays is that feeling. The thought that it will be a long day is always just over the horizon. Or that other feeling, the impending doom.
That meeting at 11 or was it 1…or 2. Meeting her across the room. Have to be prepared. Tie. Check. Swag. Check. Suit. Check. Jeans. Check. Have to be prepared; remember your talking points; don’t rehearse any lines.
Market research paints the stock a heartrate monitor coming up for air; a picture of opportunity. Opportunity is guiding Santiago, and you, and you both try and find your Fatima. Oliver Wyman. Paulo Coelho.
Lunch hour. A walk to café. The bustling streets like several colonies of ants. Your walk in the park follow the trajectory of a bee. Conversations about work. Just. Conversation.
That meeting at 11/1/2. An anxious feeling. A nervous feeling. Heart beating. Heart beating. Was it something I ate? Was I too late.? Check email. Respond to text.
* * *
At some point my future self will ask, why specifically he should not rush to get a corporate job. I’ll laugh like I did at 12:37pm that Monday. Because, I’ll say, my mind was in two places, but my heart was in one…and that feeling in my gut…was butterflies.
I had met someone.
And texting her gave me butterflies.
And here I thought I’d missed a meeting.
-Eberechi