Dumb and Lucky

I am walking back from a lunch date with my friend Rashad, recounting my half-facetious expectations for unnecessarily luxurious gifts from my boss Neo.

Rashad shakes his head. He scoffs at my audacity, and he recounts the mere week of paid vacation he may or may not receive after a year of indentured servitude at Café Gypsy. He thinks I need a reality check.

He’s right, in his own right. But as I see it, he is currently carrying two bottles of $100 scotch for me, something I am purchasing as an errand for my boss Istanbul. Istanbul is planning to give it to two of our office tech guys for helping out on a big project. Congrats, expensive booze.

Reality, in my case, seems to be skewed in favor of extravagance and absurdity.

“I think you like to put yourself in these ridiculous situations,” Rashad postulates, “because it gives you stuff to write about.”

“Clearly,” I respond, without hesitation. “And so what?”

Rashad shrugs, “Good point.”

He walks me to my office entrance, as he’s off to Café Gypsy for a 10-hour shift. I’m heading back to work, coming off an hour-and-a-half lunch break from my seven-hour shift.

“Have fun pulling shots of espresso,” I bid him.

“Have fun throwing back shots of scotch in your cubicle,” he bids me. We hug goodbye; until next lunch date.

I must say, some of what happens to me is self-inflicted; I don’t mind tying my own body to the tracks, if the moment calls for it. Honestly, though, much of my daily hilarity is pure dumb luck.

Which has to be how some of the people at Badvertiser see me: dumb and lucky.