Walking into the office, I knew it was going to be huge. The company is one of the largest in Southern California. I prepped myself, got my greeting down, and opened the 10 foot beige doors into the reception area. The office was empty and dark. Sunlight streamed in through the panoramic windows running along the back of the office, illuminating the plush carpeting, the well built cubicles, the sleek conference rooms, framed in glass, and the large reception desk.
Dimly lit, was a man, in his late 20’s/early 30’s, slouched in a couch to my left. He wore a pressed white collared shirt, a bright crimson tie, and creased black slacks. He had his feet up on a marble magazine table and a cocktail in his right hand. To my right, was a young black woman, dressed professionally, sitting in another couch, sipping something out of a Styrofoam cup. The doors closed behind me.
“So, how are you guys doing today?” I asked.
“We’re depressed man, how are you?” the guy said, taking a sip off his glass.
“Yeah, I know all about that. So what are you guys depressed about?” I asked again, moving towards his couch.
“You do realize that you just walked into a real estate office right?” he said, laughing, and taking another drink.
“No shit, and I’m the asshole trying to sell to your industry. Who’s depressed now?” I grabbed a seat next to him, and threw my clipboard on the table where his feet were.
“You want a drink?”
I smirked.
“No, seriously, do you want a drink?” he persisted.
“Sure,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “why not?”
“Now there you go,” he said, getting up to get a glass. “Margarita, or a shot?”
“I’d better stick with the margarita,” I said.
“You’d better stick with a different career,” he blurted out. “You know, in 2008, I made over 100k, last year, $10,000. Fucking real estate huh?” He poured my drink and slammed down a shot.
I didn’t sell shit, but hey, I got to have a drink at 3, and I even made a friend that probably has no recollection of the last few days.
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