So my friend and I returned back to the building in which we work, to meet up with a couple of her friends before they all went to a party on the east side of town.
We passed by the atrium, which was cordoned off and draped in sheer fabric. Beyond it inside, we could see people milling about and hear someone singing on stage. No doubt the space had been rented out for a Christmas party for some company or the other.
As we headed towards the exit, we passed this elevator, and suddenly my friend said, “Oh my God – that’s Zanta!”
I – still in a tryptophan-induced haze from all the turkey and other foods I’d gorged into my body about several hours before – whipped my head around … and there he was, in all his Santa-hat-jacket-and-shorts-wearing, pectoral glory.
Zanta. In the building of my place of work. Again, being semi-normal. Wow.
That better not be a trend.