June was the last month I had any peace and quiet before my move to Panama, and I tried to take full advantage of it. Biz and I took his two older kids to Coney Island for the day- I won his daughter, Soraya, a stuffed lion that was bigger than she was. I dragged Hopeton to a Mets game- they won 6-5 against the Phillies! And I finally got my mom to teach me how to make a proper pot of bouyon.
On the work front, Mr. Henriques gave me a project that he said might be a little out of my comfort zone.
“I’d like you to develop a canal expansion impact study, including solid trade diversification analysis,” he told me.
I’d recently been promoted to Senior Policy Analyst and it’d be good for me to get something new under my belt before I bounced.
On the dating side of things, Mr. Henriques told me he needed me (i.e., forced me) to attend a reception at the Panamanian embassy in honor of Caribbean-American Heritage month.
While trying to navigate the stuffy and dull crowd, I met this woman named Brooke. She was a few years younger than me and worked at UNICEF, where she had a similar job title to me.
To be clear, she approached me. We chatted for a minute about nothing consequential, and then she asked me if I’d want to go out some time. “Maybe grab a drink after work? Are you free Thursday?”
Brooke was not my type at all- nothing like Mistou, my Bayfront Bacchanal dance partner and texting buddy. To be honest, this woman gave me major Eula vibes, minus the smudged eye shadow and heroin habit- but I was trying to be “go with the flow Brón,” so I said yes. She took my number and told me she’d text me Wednesday night to give me the meet-up address.
“Do you think you’ll be able to get together around 6:30?” she asked.
I said sure and told her my office was down by Wall Street and that I lived in Brooklyn.
When she hit me up she gave me the address for Dos Caminos, in the Meatpacking District. That alone told me we would not be a good match.
And we weren’t.
But at least I made the effort. Too bad she didn’t.
