OJ

Earlier this morning I felt a sudden craving for fluids. In the lobby of my office downtown, there is a Second Cup. So I headed downstairs and, in an effort to quench my thirst, I picked up a 450 mL bottle of orange juice.

It was $2.23.

No joke. Two-dollars-and-fucking-twenty-three-cents. Fuck. This is highway robbery. Brubaker’s looks like a thrift store by comparison. I can get a 2 litre CARTON of succulent citrus pulp-filled Tropicana goodness at Loblaws for that. And to add insult to injury, the drink wasn’t even good! There’s nothing sadder than a brown guy who got a raw deal.

Oh yah, What’s faster than a cheetah? A brown guy with coupons.

On the plus side I ran into “Lisa” (pseudonym) on my way down. Lisa is a girl from the actuarial department at my office. Lisa is also the sort of girl I would want to be with in a few years, because she looks very smart and conservative and classy. It’s a shame she’s in her late 20s (I think), although because she’s Asian she looks younger. The first time I met her was in the copy room, and I’ve been running into her all the time since, though I didn’t see her at all last week.

I also think “Lisa” is fond of me because she always greets me by name, and every time she says “Hi” her face lights up. And when I sent out an email to everyone in the department letting them know I’d be taking a couple of days off for the actuarial exam, she responded “Hi Sen, good luck!” But she didn’t wish the other co-op guy good luck on his exam when he sent out an exactly identical e-mail a few minutes later. What’s up with that? How can you be selective with your “good lucks”?

Oddly, I didn’t learn her actual name until today. I only learned her name today because our department had a lunch-and-learn, and as we were standing in queue for random finger foods, she was at the head of the queue, and the head of my department yelled “hurry it up there, 'Lisa'!” So now I’m not a buffoon.