I spent the better part of the afternoon picking out an outfit that said “casual, per your request, but a very professional casual, don’t you think?” In the car on the way, I had a brief panic attack about whether I should ask the receptionist for Mr. Jones, or whether I was confusing myself by thinking of Señor Jones from my Pimsleur Spanish CDs. While I was waiting in the office, I stared at a window decal that said, “NO DEALS. Hard crime does hard time!” and wondered if I was in the right place. I pulled a hangnail and my finger bled. I freaked out for a minute about the fact that I might get blood on his hand when I shook it.
Things went better when I met Señor Jones.