I woke up to an article my dad sent me from one of those clickbaity websites—the sort with ads for hot singles in your area—that said people who were happy lived longer.

"How's work?" he had asked.

"It's great! How are you?"

"Gout's flared up again. Tossed and turned all night."

"That sucks," I texted back, and went to get dressed. Today seemed like a fun sock day. Red and green, with reindeer print. A gift from my parents. And like magic, with slacks, a company polo shirt, a black leather belt and matching dress shoes, I was ready to face another workday. Working 8 to 6, what a way to make a living. Just like what Dolly Parton sang to wake me up every morning, but updated for the modern day.

"Morning, Larry!" I waved to my neighbor. Larry waved back with his cane in hand, and hit it against the ceiling light.

"Ope, probably shouldn't do that!" he laughed.

"Look at you being a vandal!"

"What's got you smiling so much?"

"It's another day of sun, Larry. It's a Friday!"

"Nobody's this happy for a Friday, Mike. What's really got you happy?"

"I'm delivering a project proposal to one of our marketing executives today. This could make my career if I play my cards right."

Larry leaned against his cane with both hands. "I wish I had your energy. Don't waste your youthful days—someday you'll be as old and bony as me."

"With age comes wisdom."

"That's right!"

I hurried off downstairs and out of our apartment building for the train station. Spring had come, turning the snow to slush. I'd chosen to live here because the train took me a block from work, and sometimes the train whistle kept me awake as I tried to sleep. But the convenience was worth it—plus, I was doing my part for the environment.

"Hey Dennis! Hey Abby!" I waved to my friends from work, and sat across from them.

"...you don't look like you'd have a tattoo," Dennis said to Abby, whose face didn't share Dennis's scientific curiosity.

"It's a butterfly, on my ankle."

"I don't see it," Dennis said, looking at Abby's Converses.

"Obviously you can't see it, Dennis."

"Left or right?"

Abby ignored his question and waved to me: "Hey Mike, what's got you dressed up today?"

"Big presentation today. Mr. Robinson's going to see my plans for expanding into Hong Kong. Remember when he said at the staff meeting that Asia was the next untapped market? We already have Europe, Australia, South America, and—"

"Then we'll have global domination," Dennis said, gesturing that I was talking too much. "Look, you're gonna kill this presentation. But don't get your hopes up. Mr. Robinson's not an easy man to please."

"His mistress pleases him," Abby said.

"But I've always found him inspirational," he continued.

"Oh really?" I said, leaning in.

"He reminds me of this podcast I listen to—have you listened, Mike, to Troy Bentley's podcast?"

"I don't think so, what's it called?"

"It's called 'The Measure of a Man.' You see, in modern society, things are awful for us. We're going to college less, getting into relationships less, our testosterone levels are dropping—the glass floor we stand on is crumbling to pieces. I'll send you the link, I think you'd get a kick out of it."

"Thanks!"

"Our stop's next," Abby said, switching her Converses for high heels. I think I saw a hint of ink on her right ankle.

I walked more quickly than them so they'd have some time to continue the conversation I interrupted. I always felt so bad whenever I interrupted people like that, I'd learned the habit of not speaking until I was spoken to first, and letting people like Abby who always complained they didn't get their fair share of the credit speak before me. There was nothing worse than when people talked over each other at meetings and disrespected their coworkers.

Dennis caught up to me in the coffee line a few hours later.

"Working hard or hardly working, my friend?" he asked, putting his arm over my shoulder. "You gotta take it easy. I don't know how you keep that smile on your face working the hours you do."

"It's a Friday, what can I say?"

"Buy yourself a steak and some new shoes tonight to celebrate, my man. Get some boat shoes like the ones I'm rocking."

"You're going sockless in March?"

"It's what they're wearing in LA these days. That's what Troy Bentley says. He's like a guru."

"I'll have to look him up," I said sagely.

"He'll change your life!"

"I see Dennis the Menace is back!" Jordan called out, cutting his way in front of him. Jordan started working at Infinitech a month after us, which made him young, scrappy, and hungry. Like Hamilton, but with a neater haircut. We were all fresh college grads, but Jordan graduated a year early, which made him younger, scrappier, and hungrier.

"There's a line, my friend. Move it."

"What's the big deal? They aren't gonna run out of coffee. Don't listen to Troy Bentley, Mike. He's a grifter. I read on Reddit that he's been selling these bogus penile enlargement—"

"Male enhancement pills, Jordan, and they're necessary these days. There's estrogen in soy, and they put soy in everything these days. Read any ingredient label and you'll see 'hemolyzed soy protein' and all those carcinogens."

"Coffee's a carcinogen, actually," I contributed. "My dad sent me an article about it."

"And there's lead in the pipes and asbestos in the walls," Jordan said. "Maybe if you cooked your own food and ate vegetables like I do, you'd not need that stuff. What does Troy eat for breakfast?"

"Raw ostrich eggs, duh," Dennis laughed. I ordered my coffee and nodded in understanding.

"Eggs are feminine, don't they contain estrogen too? I'll have a large latte and a khachapuri," Jordan said to the barista. He took his snack and went to loiter at the counter.

"Coffee. Black," Dennis grunted, and when he got his coffee he left us alone.

"Eggs don't have estrogen, I'm just screwing with him," Jordan laughed. "What's got you dressed up today?"

"I'm presenting to Mr. Robinson on how we should expand into the Hong Kong market. You know, the guy who gave the speech at staff meeting."

"Hong Kong's a good place to do business, or anywhere around there. Hong Kong, Thailand, Taiwan, Burma—they call it the Milk Tea Alliance. An upwardly mobile, democratically aspirational middle class is great for the economy."

"Wow, you know your stuff!"

Jordan shrugged. "Good luck, Mike. You'll crush it. I'm off to nibble my brunch at my desk like a chipmunk and daydream."

"Happy Friday!" I said back, and went to my own desk. Talking with my work friends was sometimes my favorite part of work. Knowing that we were all in it together made it a lot more fun.

A bit after lunch, I heard a knock on my door, and my boss came in.

"Hey Mike, how's it going?" Mr. Ryerson asked.

"Better than ever!" I said. "I'm still putting the finishing touches on the proposal packet, but I printed out a draft copy if you want to see."

Mr. Ryerson took it and did a quick flip-through.

"I like how you used the heavy-stock paper. This is good stuff! I think this shows how you've taken feedback well and grown in your core knowledge areas. I can tell graphic design is your passion."

"Thanks, Jim."

"I think Mr. Robinson will be impressed. Keep it up, I just wanted to surprise you with a little pep talk."

"I love surprises."

Mr. Ryerson chuckled, like he did after telling me dad jokes.

"We can debrief Monday morning. Have a good weekend, Mike. Enjoy this great weather when you get a chance. I know it's your first spring out here. There's nothing better than breathing in clean air and watching all the flowers that have been hiding under the snow poke their heads out."

"Will do, boss. Any plans yourself?"

"Jennifer has her ballet recital, so she's really nervous about that. It's toddler ballet, so they kinda just run around in circles, but she has fun anyway."

"No more golf?"

"Maybe in a few weeks. Take care."

Time passed quickly, as it does when you're having fun, and it was time to head up to Mr. Robinson's office. He was one of the lucky ones who had a window office, a real C-suite sort of deal. Two flights of stairs and a hallway later, I was at his secretary's desk.

"I already gave him a printed copy of your report—I think he'll be impressed. Good luck," she said with a faint smile, and pushed a bowl of mints toward me.

"Thanks, Mildred!" I said, and walked in to face my fate.

This was the first time I was in Mr. Robinson's office, and the first thing that caught my eye was the very abstract painting on the wall opposite the window panels. It looked like a very hurried and colorful depiction of a space alien coming to earth.

"You like it? It's a Kandinsky. It's meant to symbolize the atrocities of the Russian Revolution," Mr. Robinson said while walking over to give me a firm, dry handshake.

"It's very vivid. Does it inspire your work? I see your desk faces it."

"Huh. That's a good question. I guess it does, having a bit of color and softness with all this marble and steel. Do you want a drink?" he asked, pointing to some whiskey glasses and a dark bottle.

"Liquid courage," I quipped. "Thank you for offering."

"I read through your report," he said while I was pouring myself a bit of whiskey, "and I think it's thought out very well. This is the caliber of work I expect from people whose reports make it to my desk. Who's your boss?"

"Mr. Ryerson. James."

"Jim's trained you well! I was curious about the budget figures you estimate in the middle, when we're looking at the total cost of implementation. Isn't that ambitious for a new market?"

"Uhh, it's a lot, but Hong Kong is a rising economy, and I remember what you said about our global ambitions at staff meeting the other day to 'corral all the world's tigers.'"

"That's right, but this is our first Asian expansion. We're a lean corporation, Infinitech, we can't venture rashly. And these assumptions you make about market segmentation and risk: it's all well-sourced, but some of these figures are from 2021. How confident are you that we can extrapolate from these reports you cite?"

"I'm very confident, given that they're underpinned by facts and principles that have not changed—"

"Are you so confident that you'd stake our entire potential market expansion in Asia on it?"

"When you phrase it that way, Mr. Robinson, are you trying to—"

"Mike, our CEO loves to say that he doesn't make bets he can lose. Business, real business, isn't what you see on TV with its cocaine-fueled gambles—at least how we do it here. It's science, as precise as my Swiss watch. I think in a world where we had the budget where this would be a drop in the bucket, and that we wouldn't be making such a big gamble, I'd say yes in a heartbeat. And my gut tells me that this is a win, what I'm holding in my hand. But if I had to die on a hill for this in front of my boss, her boss, his boss, and the CEO, I don't think this is what we're looking for. Meet me next life, when we're reincarnated on a gilded planet with all the world's jewels in our hands. Then we could."

"I understand," I said, the whiskey gurgling in my stomach.

"I'll keep this on file, though. I might give this to someone else to tinker with."

"Understood."

"And I'll be sure to give Jim feedback that you delivered me a spectacular report. You know, if luck is the lady I know she is, you'll eventually get the chance to join this Hong Kong expansion."

"Thank you, Mr. Robinson. And thank you for the whiskey."

"Keep the bottle as a gesture of my appreciation. There's not much left in there, and I want to shift over to sake. You know, for geographical inspiration as we court Japan."

I took the half-empty bottle and left his office.

"He gave it to me," I said to Mildred as I left.

"Mr. Robinson must have really enjoyed your presentation!" she said cheerily.

"I got some good feedback, but not quite the overall outcome I was expecting."

"He's always hard on you new folks. He was telling me as he was looking over it before you came that it was stellar."

"I appreciate it," I said, and went to the elevator. I couldn't tell if the fire inside was anger or the whiskey, and if I didn't think I'd puke all over my dress shoes, I'd have chugged the bottle in the time it took the elevator to come to rest. I hadn't done that since college. Those were the days, back when I could succeed.

I wasn't sure what to do the rest of the day besides seethe, and thankfully someone knocked on my door to interrupt.

"Come in," I said.

"Abby and I wanted to come by and congratulate you on your presentation. How did it go?" Jordan asked from the doorframe.

"Terribly. The worst part is that he said it was a great presentation, but he said no. I don't know what to do now. I wish I had a second chance to prove myself."

"That sounds like success. You should celebrate. Go out and buy yourself dinner." He took my red stapler and started fiddling with it.

"I'm going to Truman's tonight to get tipsy. It's TGIF, Mike. You should be happy," Abby said, drawing out the last word. "Drink that whiskey."

"You doing anything fun, Jordan?" I asked.

"I have a volunteer meeting at eight."

"Is this your Cantonese language advocacy group, whatever you called it?" Abby interjected.

"Mhm."

"I don't get why you're into that. I know you speak the language, but you're white."

"You volunteered with that group to save the sea turtles, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Are you a sea turtle?" Jordan asked snidely, putting the stapler back down for emphasis. "Do you speak sea turtle, going blrblrblrblrblrt or whatever sound a sea turtle makes—"

"Jordan, I get the point."

"I'm gonna head back and get some work done. Don't stay too late, Mike," Jordan said, and after he left Abby left.

At six o'clock on the dot I decided I couldn't bear the workday any longer, though the offices around me hummed with activity. There was no point in staying to prove my dedication if my effort wasn't rewarded. It was really unfair. I looked at my feet as I sat on the train and walked back to my apartment, only looking up to order a burrito on the way that tasted like failure.

Despite the lingering taste of failure from that day, I forced myself to think happy thoughts as I fell asleep. Tomorrow would be a new day and a new start, and when I thought of it that way, I didn't have to force myself to be happy: spring had sprung, and I'd go out there and seize the day!

I woke up to an article my dad sent me from one of those clickbaity websites—the sort with ads for hot singles in your area—that said people who were happy lived longer. It felt too early—I must have forgotten to turn on my weekend alarm.

"How's work?" he had asked.

"You sent me this yesterday," I texted back.

"No I didn't. Couldn't sleep well. Gout's flared up again."

"That sucks," I was about to text, and then I thought to check the date.

It was Friday. I'd ordinarily herald Friday as one more day of sun before the weekend, but Friday wasn't supposed to come twice. This wasn't right. But hey, it was fun sock day again! I picked some Halloween socks to celebrate, and prepared myself for the workday.