Taking the neatly pressed jacket from the hanger in the closet, Jamish slides one arm in and pauses for a moment admiring the color of his suit, the press on his shirt and the cleanliness of his shave. Effortlessly sliding his second arm through the sleeves, he adjusts his shoulders and rolls the jacket up and fits it snugly. He has a habit of putting his tie on after his coat. The first time he wore a tie he forgot it until he was about to leave and hastily put it on. He won his very first tournament that day. A superstitious man, he dresses the same way any time he has a big presentation, or he is up for a promotion.
“Windsor or not? Don't make puns, Jamish. This is serious. Is it though? Like, is it really? You're already a senior programmer, this would make you a VP, but in title really and little more. The responsibilities are slightly scaled back, and the personal projects almost completely cease. I want to own Hamen Games though. I want to be President and then I want to buy the owner out. Eric and I started this company, but he doesn't do anything anymore.”
“Windsor, for sure. Loop here, pull there, more loops, done. Is this right? Here, let me just do a regular knot.” After undoing and redoing his tie, he stands back admiring the tight knot atop his pressed dotted salmon colored shirt that hides the top button. He puts on his coat that matches his vest and inserts his blue and red pocket square. He grabs his brown leather messenger bag and meticulously places his arm through the strap and lets it hang at his side. Usually he would place the strap over his head and let the bag hang off the opposite side, but today was different. He didn't want to sweat.
Making his way outside, he stops at the door, taps the right side of the door jamb twice, grabs his keys and as he opens the door he tosses them straight up in front of him and takes a step so the natural swing of his hand behind him in stride will place his had in a spot to catch the keys as they fall. He usually is able to get through this ritual on the first try. He hesitates and the keys land on his shoulder. They rest there for a moment before sliding forward and into the crease of his sewn shut breast pocket. He lets go of the door handle and catches the keys before they fall to the ground. Blinking through the decision to reset and start again, he decides a catch is a catch and heads out.
“Do I call a rideshare or do I drive today? Parking isn't usually bad out front but do I want to risk it? I can't be late. Settle down James, you could walk the 2 miles to work and still make it there with 20 minutes before your shift starts, which would give you an hour and twenty minutes to tweak your presentation, even though it doesn't need to be, and make it to the board's office. Besides, you're only in this position because you decided you didn't want to be an equal partner, you just wanted to write code. How many other partnerships like this fell apart? Be the face, damnit. You got this!”
He pulls out his cell phone and punches in his mother's phone number. It rings twice and goes to voicemail, “I'm so glad you didn't answer. I don't really have the energy to catch up or anything. I'm on my way in to present before the board and I will hopefully end up promoted to VP, which would grant me 1/3rd stake in the company. Eric set it up to be equally divided among the owner, the President and the VP. The VP we had moved on to a larger software company. I want his spot. Don't put this on Facebook, please.”
Beep.
“That was long enough, I suppose.”
He places the key fab against the sensor for a moment and then nestles them into his right-side jacket pocket. He pushes the start and sits for a moment with both hands on the wheel staring out ahead.
Poof
Hey Jamish, you wanna get breakfast before you head in to work?
Jamish screams as loudly as he is able and instinctively begins swatting at the intruder in his car. Diego defends the swats at the same time, he screams in terror. They both connect a few times with harmless flails back and forth as they try to protect themselves from each other. It's me!! Diego, stop hitting me.
“What the actual fuck, man? No. You are not allowed to do that to me. I have a big presentation. You know this. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I better not have peed myself.”
Trying desperately to contain his laughter, dude, haha, I'm sorry. I was just trying to be with you this morning. I remembered that you have a thing today and I saw you toss the keys up and they landed on your shoulder. I figured you'd try until you got it right, but a catch is a catch, I guess.
“You saw that? Yeah. I didn't want it to be a thing where I had to spend too much time trying to get the toss right. I mean, three weeks in a row I practiced tossing it up and over my shoulder and I caught it on the first try every day. Yesterday's was a little suspect though. The large ring landed on my pinky like one of those coin toss carnival games. I just went with it.”
Oh, that's actually pretty cool. Let's grab a bite and head to your job. I can make my way home afterward. Like, I wont need a ride.
“Why would I ever give you a ride ever again? You should be giving me rides.”
Um, hold up there buddy. I feel like this is a personal space thing and you're infringing.
“Says the idiot sitting in my car without even opening the door.”
Touché. Also, name calling hurts. Stop it.
“What? I don't speak dickhead, go back to English, yeah?”
Rude.
“Thank you. Look, I don't have much time. I want to get myself settled and go over the presentation a few times before the meeting at 10.”
Um, yeah, okay. Ooh, I know a delicious bakery in Lisbon. I'm gonna grab us a couple tartes de nata. Just hold my coffee.
“What are those?”
You'll see. They're amazing. Oh my god!!!! I'm going to bring you a bifana too. Don't make a mess though.
“Come on man, I can't be eating anything that could sully my suit. I just got it pressed.”
I'm sorry, I don't speak pussy. English, please?
“Fuck you, dude.”
Poof.
“Damnit. Just breathe. Settle down. Oh man, this guy is going to be the end of me, I swear.”
Jamish pulls out onto the street and makes his way to work. His mind is racing, and his heart is pounding. Not wanting to mess up his good hair day, he turns on the A/C fan and lets it blow air into the cab. It is important to him to stay calm and keep cool. Reciting some of what he said to himself as a young professional gamer, he begins to calm down.
“You have the fastest fingers. You have the quickest response time. You have expert instincts. You are a champion already. You have already won. The future has called and asked you to settle down and share some of the accolades with everyone else. You are not the best there is, but you are the best you could be yesterday. Be better today. Become the best. You deserve this.”
Over and over he recites this. Bursting with confidence, he pulls into his spot and lets out a triumphant and loud “Wooooo!”
Poof
Ow loud. Why are you screaming.
Again, Jamish yelps and swipes at the intruder.
Not again, stop, it's me, Diego! Come on, eff.
“Text me or something. Stop fucking just popping in. Also, how did you know where I was?”
I don't know. I usually say where I want to go, but I said your name. I didn't even think up where you could be. I guessed you were in the car. I mean, when I did it earlier you were in the car and I could see you so I just poofed into the front seat, but this time, it was different. Wow, I had no idea I could do that. Let's test it out after work. Like, you go for a drive and I'll poof into the moving car and then out again and back and you know the deal.
“What if, hear me out, what if I don't want to? Hmm? What if you've psyched me out and I don't get this promotion and I have to kill you later?”
No. Nope, that is not okay to say. Maybe you're just hungry. Here, have a tarte de nata and a bifana. They're amazing.
“Again, what are those?”
One is a custard tart and the other is a pork sandwich. They're both incredible. EAT.
“No. Well, I will have the tart. It's small enough. Wow, it's still warm. How?”
I just bought it, duh. Are you okay? What's wrong with you?
“I'm distracted, I guess. Wait, no. I get time to adjust to you being able to teleport.”
With air quotes, Diego says, Poof.
“Teleport. I'm not calling it poofing.”
My ability, I get to name it. Poof.
“No.”
Say it. Poof. It's easy.
“No, stop. I'm not going to call it 'poof.'”
Yes, you are. That's the word. You can do it. Just start with poo and end with fff. Easy peasy.
“No. Thanks for the tart though. No eating in my car. Go home.”
I'll save you the bifana. It's incredible.
“Uh, thanks. Maybe I'll eat it later.”
I love you.
“No, you may not continue my save file of RDR 2.”
How'd you....
“I love you too, puta.”
Puto.
“No, you.”
With a smile he closes his car door and heads into the building. Diego eats his tart in one bite and relishes its warm, sweet goodness and takes everything else into his arms and poofs home.