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Evaluating American Seltzers
My chair was made by Herman Miller, and it must have only been in that board room for less than a week. It was firm, silent, and I reclined while the other vice presidents filed in and out. Patrice was wearing Warby Parker; I could not believe he would try and get away with something so moderate for a meeting this high into the Manhattan skyline. 9am, the sun rose to the edge of the mahogany table, and I hadn’t had a cigarette in over a year. Most people could tell: my eyes were brighter, and the turmeric with almond milk whitened my teeth. Tomas always picked up Starbucks Reserve in Chelsea; his jittery hands and graying hairs meant he was promoted to the same position as me a whole 6 months slower. I despised him.
“Allen, how the hell are ya?”
Marcus chimed, and slapped me on the shoulder. He was still on the lower end of a 31, four years after swimming at Yale. He started putting lemon juice in his hair this summer, and his parents bought him a Valentino suit after he sweat through a Tom Ford on the subway last week. He was the only VP taller than me.
“Got a new seltzer, what do you think?”
I popped a can of Wild Basin, Yumberry.
“The labeling is full of primary colors, it’s bombastic. At 5% ABV, it’s strong, and has panache.”
