The Office

I have been blessed with an office job and what a blessing it is considering I can help myself to complimentary tea and coffee free of charge anytime I want. Booya. If the bland walls and “window view” of the adjacent office building weren’t enough to truly inspire me, I have the joy of listening to other “office-like” conversations. Take today for example, when Herb Hardwick took the time at about 2:34 p.m. to call his wife and inform her that the “guys went out to lunch for Ryan’s birthday.”

In office-like environments, birthdays are a big deal and it is customary to treat the celebrated individual to a lunch of some sort at a cheap, but seemingly expensive place such as a Panera Bread or a Bucca di Beppo. It is at this pathetic location that a co-worker will compensate for the fact that the office gang took you to Panera with a remark such as, “The bread bowls. Now those things are great with soup.”

Today Herb Hardwick, who is located across the hall from me, called his wife to inform her of the birthday lunch. Office conversation between Herb and his wife went something like this.

I had no idea they served steak sandwiches.

They literally must have just added it the menu.

Surprisingly good. Surprisingly good, because they have more steak than bread.

That must be the trick.

Well, I guess we’ve been eating our steak sandwiches at the wrong joint then, haven’t we?

Dead serious. The bread was smaller than the actual steak itself.

I’ll tell ya, I would have thought the other way around, more bread, less steak, but I guess that’s why I’m not in the sandwich business.

Seriously.

I have no idea where they would get this small bread. It’s not normal bread.

They must have connections.

You’re telling me.

Who would have thought?

I salute you Herb Hardwick. We must appreciate the simple things in life, and if that means a steak sandwich for you, then by all means buddy, rave on.

Black Beauty

There is something to be said about an article of clothing whose night like fabric literally inspires, motivates and musters unnecessary emotion. Yes, I am talking about black denim jeans: the world’s definition of black beauty. It's an article of clothing that was most likely conceived on the back of a motorcycle in the midst of some regrettable Sturgis trip. It's tricky and evasive in nature. It is trained to blend in with its surroundings; to appear as dress slacks, but alas no! It's denim.

It is most distinguishable when paired with a pair of bright, white Reeboks, or a cut off tee. Its beauty can only be appreciated against of back drop of pine trees underneath a setting sun. The pockets large enough to hold any essential Swiss army knife or necessary beer cozy; it's zipper remains oiled and attentive in the event of a quick, inappropriate public pee. Going to a funeral? Simply pair with a short sleeve, button down pastel dress shirt. A rock concert? Simply wet with a garden hose to administer the effect of cheap leather. Bow down to the almighty, the trump slacks, God's choice for everyday wear: the black denim jean.