Ride the Tiger
I had been pouring over a stack of documents, highlighter in hand. I’d been at the firm for three days, and still hadn’t met the boss. This was my best chance to make a good first impression. I scrubbed the marker over a key passage. The page was covered in colorful stripes.
That’s when I heard the music.
“Ignore it, focus,” I muttered. I was on the last page. Just a few more key details.
The music was getting loud now. Recognizable. It was ‘Eye of the Tiger’ by Survivor. Someone slammed their phone–blaring music–on my desk.
“Neil! Where have you been hiding?” It was the boss.
“Um, pleased to meet you sir, but um, my name is Daniel.”
He paused the music with a great sigh.
“Yes, I know your name is Daniel legally.” He drew out that last word. “But that’s not what matters here, is it? It wouldn’t do to have two Dans around the office, would it, Neil?”
“Heh, I guess not Dan.”
“Mr. Baltic.”
“Right, sorry, Mr. Baltic. Sir.”
He stared at me in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Just when I was about to speak he started the music again.
“So what have you been up to, Neil?”
I explained about the document, shuffling the last few pages I had been working on into a folder and handed it to him.
He glanced at the folder without opening it and then, locking eyes with me, leaned down and fed it into the shredder below my desk.
“W-what are you doing? My notes!”
“That’s no way to talk to the man that just doubled your billables for this task, Neil.”
I stood, speechless.
“I need a little stimulation, Neil. Let’s go get some coffee.”
A few minutes later we were sitting in the front of a local coffee shop.
“See that dump truck over there?” said Mr. Baltic, confusing me by pointing deeper into the shop, instead of at the construction outside the front window.
“You mean the barista?”
“I know I’ve got a jackhammer, Neil, but I’m not wearing a hardhat. Yes, the barista. Jesus, what are they teaching you at law school these days?” He took out his phone–still playing Eye of the Tiger on loop–and started thumbing through something. “While you’ve been wasting office supplies, I’ve been doing real research on Instagram, and she has been dropping hints about a handsome lawyer that comes in here. I need you to do a little fishing for me, Neil.”
This sounded tacky but I was desperate to get back in the boss’ good graces. “Yes, sir, whatever you need.”
“Take my card. Order a dozen espressos for the other Junior Asses, and a mocha latte for me, extra hot, extra extra cream.” He leered at the barista as he said this, and I realized she was a latina.
“Should I get something for myself?”
“It’s a free country, you can do whatever you want,” he said, handing me his card, then jerking it away, “with your own money.”
I glanced back and forth, from his angry face to his credit card.
He handed it to me with a big smile, and clapped me on the back like we were old friends. “Make sure you ask if any hot guys come in here. Don’t let me down or you’re fired. Go get ‘em, tiger!” He slapped my ass.
Now that I could see her face to face, the barista was mid. Cute, but a bit big for my taste. “What can I get you?”
“Uh, I have two separate orders for expense reasons. First, a dozen espressos and one mocha latte, extra hot, and um, lots of extra cream.” I glanced briefly towards the boss. He gave me a big thumbs up.
“Okay, name?”
“Dan. Dan Baltic.” If she recognized the name, she didn’t show it. I paid using the borrowed card.
“And your second order?”
“An iced coffee, please.”
“Name for that order?”
“Also Dan. I’m Daniel Smith. I just started working across the street. Don’t know many people around here.” I paid. She and another barista started making up the orders. A took a deep breath. “So, uh, any hot guys come in here?”
“Pardon?”
I glanced back at the boss. He was nonchalantly staring out the front window.
“I asked if any, uh, hot guys come in here.”
She was placing the dozen espressos in a flat box. “Hmm, not sure, I don’t really understand how you gay guys rate each other, no offense.” She put the last two drinks–mine and Mr. Baltic’s–in a little cardboard caddy on top of the bigger box.
I felt the conversation going nowhere so I cut to the chase. “So you don’t have your eye on anyone?”
“Hmm, there is one bigshot lawyer guy. Comes in a few times a week. Pretty hot, but I’m sure he is straight.”
“Ayy! Big Tony!” said the second barista in a teasing voice, poking the bigger girl with her finger.
I took the pile of coffees back to the boss.
“So, don’t keep me in suspense, who’s the lucky lawyer? Hmm? Is it me? Many people are saying this. Many people think Dan Baltic is the hottest lawyer in town.”
“Not sure exactly, but someone named Tony.”
“Lombardi?!” Furious, Mr. Baltic grabbed my coffee, opened it, and threw it in my face.
We stood for a moment in silence. Iced coffee dripped messily, if harmlessly, down my shirt. Mr. Baltic frowned and looked at the cup.
“Neil,” he said coldly, “did you get my order wrong?”
I looked down at the other cup in front of me. The extra hot latte. The name was on my side. I weighed my response carefully.
“No, sir. She must have gotten it wrong.” I handed him his card, and the bill with the dozen espressos and one mocha latte.
He stared at it in grim silence. There was a vein bulging on his temple, like that painting of Barack Obama that looks like a giant sperm.
He crumpled the receipt and threw it over his shoulder, suddenly all smiles again. “Bitches be crazy, right Neil? Gotta love them, though, poor things.” He rolled his eyes, and shook his head like he was talking about a mischievous pet or something.
“Yeah, you said it, Mr. Baltic. This is probably wrong too.” I grabbed ‘my’ coffee and quickly threw it in the trash. “Should we get these back to the other junior associates?”
“Sure. But we need to stop by the homeless guy around the corner so you can pay him to spit in them, first."