Andrew Shaffer

“Most times, my mind is just an ongoing, present-tense, first-person monologue. It's like I'm writing a novel.”

“I arrive at the Gray Holdings headquarters in downtown Seattle two hours later. The building is a ginormous 175-story office building that juts into the sky like a glass and steel erection. It’s fifteen minutes until two when I arrive – just in time for the interview. I walk through the glass doors and into the lobby, which is also floor-to-ceiling glass and steel. This fascinates me, because buildings back in Portland are made of grass and mud.”

“I growl with frustration at my reflection in the mirror. Damn my hair – it’s fifty shades of fucked up. The situation I’m in is fifty shades of fucked up. I’m supposed to be studying for my finals; my roommate, Kathleen, should be the one fussing with her hair in front of the mirror right now. Instead, I’m trying to brush my hair into submission. Why is my hair so kinky? I need to stop sleeping with it wet, because it always ends up out of control. As I brush my long, brown hair, the girl in the mirror with blue eyes too big for her head stares back at me. Wait...I don’t have blue eyes! Then I realize I haven’t been looking into the mirror. I’ve been staring at a poster of Kristen Stewart for five minutes. My own hair is actually fine.”

“roommate,”

“He hands me his shopping list and I lead him through the store in search of the items. Duct tape? Plastic wrap? A hacksaw? Who is this guy, Dexter?”

“As I brush my long, brown hair, the girl in the mirror with blue eyes too big for her head stares back at me. Wait...I don’t have blue eyes! Then I realize I haven’t been looking into the mirror. I’ve been staring at a poster of Kristen Stewart for five minutes. My own hair is actually fine.”

“The people are so small, they look like ants (although they're Walmart customers, so they look like obese ants).”

“I shake his hand, and feel the jolt of electricity again from him. He laughs and raises his hand to show me the joy-buzzer in his palm.”

“I have hobbies," he says, smirking. "Physical pursuits: Base-jumping, hang-gliding, underwater basket-weaving.”

“She hands me a security badge that says VIRGIN.”

“The building is a ginormous 175-story office building that juts into the sky like a glass and steel erection.”

“For the first time since he showed up in my checkout lane, I let my eyes wander the full length of his body. The bulge in his running down the side of his pants leg is quite noticeable; either he has a banana in his pocket, or he’s happy to see me. Then I notice a similar bulge running down the side of his other pants leg. Either he has two bananas in his pockets, or he has two erections.”

“My shift isn’t over until six,” I say glumly.“Hold on,” he says. He pulls a Blackberry from his coat pocket and taps out a text. It buzzes, and he taps out another text before stashing it back in his pocket. “I think you can take the rest of the afternoon off.”“I only have a week left, but my boss would kill me,” I say.“I’m your boss, Anna.”“What do you mean?”There’s that smile again, the one with all those teeth. “I just bought Walmart,” he says.”

“I like my tea like I like my men,” I say. With the last name “Grey.” But I realize that’s too forward, so I add, “Black.”He raises an eyebrow.“I mean, not that I exclusively like black men,” I say, trying to recover. “I like other kinds of tea. And men.”“Have you ever tasted...white tea, Anna?”

“No man is an island,” he says. “Islands are made of dirt and rocks and trees. I don’t know any people made of such things. Therefore, people are not islands.”

“Mr. Gray,” I mutter. He’s smiling again like the Big Bad Wolf who wants to eat me. And boy, do I want him to eat m–“I just happened to be in the area,” he says, cutting off my internal monologue. “I needed to pick up a few supplies, and here you are. What a pleasant surprise.” His voice is cool and husky like a Wendy’s Frosty shake, with just a little bit of grit (also like a Frosty).”

“Stop it, girl. There’s no way he’s five-years-old. Or one hundred. He’s probably like every other CEO on the planet: Late twenties, handsome in that geeky sort of way, and just as awkward as you. I breathe a sigh of relief, because I know I’m probably right.”

“Who is this man I’m supposed to interview, this man whose last name is the same as the color of my sweatpants? Is that a sign?”

“It’s fifteen minutes until two when I arrive – just in time for the interview. I walk through the glass doors and into the lobby, which is also floor-to-ceiling glass and steel. This fascinates me, because buildings back in Portland are made of grass and mud.”