Steffen is my library friend.  

1) For job interviews, he has to review cases and add insights.  He types his feedback as it comes to him, in the same way I might analyze a quote in a book.  Many of those notes use the F word, i.e. “Oh fuck, no, here we go,” or “are you fucking kidding me?” or “fuck this.”  I am charmed by the fact that he takes the time to write out the F word while really saying nothing at all except this is a “fucking joke.”

2) He seems to keep spare clothing, a Costco supply of Purell and three different colors of the same exact sweatshirt in his locker in the library.  There’s no way of saying this without it sounding straight-up bizarre, but he reminds me of my sister-in-law: a) the obsession with Purell, b) the tidiness and c) owning the same thing in multiple colors.  I imagine the two of them meeting and having a Purell party together while having outfit changes into the same cardagins/hoodies/etc. And then there’s the side of me that totally relates to the locker storage:  for those of you who don’t know, I once kept a shipping office under my desk at my first job.  What?  You need to mail a package and don’t have a box?  come to the business I run under my desk.  What?  It’s raining and you need a plastic bag?  That’s so crazy I have one right here….

3) He makes everything into a lesson.  The day that I violently spilled Chai tea all over my leg, specifically into the insole and slip-on shoes that I was inappropriately wearing in the winter, he said, “Do you see why I don’t let people eat in my car or bed?”  And true, I have never seen the insides of his car or his bed or bedroom for that matter but he does have a point in that “you never know what’s going to happen,” just in the same way you never know when you need to mail something and need that stupid brown paper bag to wrap a box in.  

4) We once to lunch and as most grilled cheese sandwich shops do, they asked him his name.  Moment’s after consuming Tom’s sandwich and seeing no trace of sliced tomatoes, Steffen went back to the gatekeepers to complain about the sandwich.  But he took Tom’s sandwich?  Nop, turns out Steffen’s alternate name (that he has fully chosen for himself) is Tom.  He then explained how the chain of command disintegrates with workmanship’s skills.  Even if the person at the register understood his name, the person who then made the sandwich and passed it down the assembly line to the next person who cut the sandwich to the next person who yelled names, that end person would, most likely, be incapable of understanding his name.  The lower the chain of the command, the more stupider you are.  

Anyway, why not call yourself Steven?