This Friday couldn't come soon enough. For the first time since I changed it on my birthday, my text tone (click) went off at full volume at work, but luckily no one was around to hear it. I was sent on a delivery to 101 Huntington, and actually entered the mysterious "101" that Alanna and I pondered many moons ago. Unfortunately, that street-level door is a staff-only access point, and I was forced to enter through the plebeian entrance. That one is located INSIDE THE ARCADE of the Pru, meaning that I had to battle my way through idiotic throngs of tourists. It's as if some of these people haven't ever walked before. The general format is that people are walking in one direction on one side and in the opposite direction on the other, correct? Then we have Slappy McGee, who decides to stop abruptly to look at his or her phone, or gather 5 of their closest friends and walk in an unbreakable row that occupies the entire lane of traffic. Slow walkers are insufferable. And whoever thought to situate the business entrance of an office building inside a nightmare of tourism and retail deserves a swift kick to the cojones.
A.T., the summer attorney at Rich May, finished out today and there was a large ice cream party in his honor. There were several pints of J.P. Licks of various flavors, whipped cream, chopped peanut butter cups, M&Ms, peanut butter, strawberry sauce, butterscotch, Rolos, cherries, sprinkles, and chocolate syrup; the firm must have gained a collective 20 pounds. In the evening, I went up on the Hill to share pizza and beer with Laura, Lauren, Lauren B, their friends Kate and JT, Shannon, and Sean. We played (and gave up on Imaginiff), moved to Cards Against Humanity, and finally went out on the deck to tell stories, smoke hookah, and have a fine evening.
Quote of the day:
"This is like a ghost town." - Diane
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