I wake up with Cruel Summer in my head, the Bananarama version, not the Ace of Base one (although they are exactly the same).
I think it’s on my mind because the city may not be very crowded at all with it being a Friday between two days off and a weekend, but H is in Iceland and the Foxes are in Ireland and I don’t really have any other friends so they’re all away and I’m on my own.
On my way to work I find this little fella parked outside a row of panelák:
It’s a very old and very well kept Fiat 600, which is essentially a tumefied Fiat 500 with a little extra ass and one hundred more — what? One hundred more cylinders? Horses? I don’t know anything about cars that matters. I only like about six different cars ever built, which are all European and old, and mostly italian, and all of them tiny.
But we used to have thousands and thousands of these back home, only there they were called Seat 600 (seiscientos) and they were made in Barcelona and they were the first and only car Spaniards could afford so everyone had one, or memories of one. We didn’t — we had a Mercedes and an imported Mini because we were so precious, a family trait I have certainly perfected — but the seiscientos is engraved in the collective memory of every Spaniard regardless of your papi’s tax bracket.
So I know it’s going to be a good day.
Because everyone is off work the office building is practically deserted. We have also been told that the cafeteria will be closed, so no free food today. When I arrive I see the cafeteria staff have barricaded the entrance with a bunch of trolleys, so I head down to my desk.
Your flying crew today consists of me, Other Copywriter (henceforth known as Other) and SEO Guy. No designers. No UX team.
Other is feisty and dark and lovely and looks a bit like Jennifer Lopez if Jennifer Lopez sang lead vocals in your cousin’s garage rock band. A bit.
SEO Guy is a very friendly American who sometimes destroys my copy with excel sheets of stupid shit people are entering into Google which needs to be added to whatever content I’m working on so that our employer won’t plummet to page 16 in people’s search results.
Since there is no free food today, I leave our office tower and cross the street to the Arkady mall and into the food court, past the crowded fast-food outlets, and into the nearly empty salad place. There I attempt to construct a salad order from scratch in Czech in my head, give up and head to Nordsee where I ask for a plate of seafood paella and pretend this fits my
eating disorder diet.
I take my tray and choose a table next to a businessman and his very young daughter who starts jumping up and down in her seat and then pisses herself.
I crank up the volume of the Jessie Ware track I’m listening to and pretend this isn’t happening.
Life is pain and ridicule, is what Other says to me when I get back, although I forget the context. I think it’s because she doesn’t like her new haircut.
Then I go to the work gym and back to my desk where I write some more promotional copy and just like that, it’s Friday evening and everyone is gone except me and SEO Guy and they’re literally vacuuming under my feet so I finish typing this and go home.