Taking care of business
So I had lunch at the Central Markets today. I’d been drinking a lot of water at work though after having a few beers last night and feeling strangely hungover today, despite the “few” only numbering three (weird, I go for a session at the pub and wake up feeling nothing worse than a little hoarse but I go out to a show and to dinner and wake up with my head in a vice). What I’m getting at is that no sooner did I lob up to the markets, than I needed, well, to go. I went to the gents in the southern market arcade walkway, near that stand where the guy sells the old records; near the back door of the pub in there. So I go in.
There’s an old Chinese man huddled in the corner and at the other end, there’s just some guy, wearing a bad polo shirt with horizontal stripes and cargo shorts. I assume my position in the middle, when the guy to my right starts talking.
“Hey, thanks for calling back… you’re probably one of the few bankers that isn’t out playing golf at the moment”
Yeah, he was talking on the phone while he was standing there and, y’know… let’s just say he had both hands full.
“So I looked at the proposal and… yeah, I know… well this had all been checked with Kevin, so… um yeah, actually… Can you hang on a minute? I… I’ve just gotta do something…”
I’m not sure where he put the phone while he was doing it but I’m sure the guy at the other end was wondering what our man was doing standing in the kitchen and why it was so important that he squeeze that lemon juice into the sink rather than talk about the proposal. I finished up and went to wash my hands while he was, well, squeezing lemons.
And the next thing I heard was his voice trailling off as the door closed behind him.
So very wrong…
