Upper-middle class white kids in their 20s

James wakes up, turns the coffee machine on (after pre-filling it the night before), hops in the shower, brushes his teeth, eats a bowl of cereal, drinks half a cup of coffee (even though he made six) and rushes out the door to get to work by 9. Then he sits in traffic for 45 minutes, even though his job is 3 miles from his house.

Shit, he forgot to turn the coffee off. And he got a little toothpaste on his tie.

“JIMMMMMMMY,” says Dan, his co-worker, as they pass each other in the hallway. He said it in a way that would lead anyone to believe they’re best friends. James hates anyone who calls him Jimmy, though.

He’s seen Dan every day for the last 3 years and the only thing he really knows about him is that his girlfriend is named Cindy and he has some kind of dog. He told him where we grew up once, but now James forgets — along with everything else Dan has ever told him.

“How’s Cindy? How was your weekend?” he asks, out of reflex. Dan says she’s good and he can’t believe it’s Monday again, and Mondays are the worst and how about the weather we’re having, and how he has to get back to the old grind, and how he hopes to see Jimmy later.

If James is lucky, he won’t pass Dan again in the hallway, because he’s out of talking points. Now he has to make sure there’s no footsteps or voices if he wants to get up from his desk to use the bathroom. Otherwise, it might be awkward. And that would suck. That would really really suck.

He leaves right at 5pm to sit in traffic for another 45 minutes, sometimes wondering what he’s doing with his life and sometimes too lost in singing with the radio as loud as he can to even think about anything at all.

On those nights, everything in his life seems to be exactly where it should be. Mostly this happens on the Fridays when he gets paid. And then his mom will call and say she’s so proud of him.

And then he wonders why she’s proud. He doesn’t do anything special.

Then maybe he goes to the gym, but mostly he doesn’t. Maybe he goes on a date, but mostly he doesn’t. Maybe he cooks food, but mostly he orders it. Maybe he drinks a beer, but mostly he drinks Coke. Maybe he goes to watch TV at his friends house, but mostly he just watches it alone.

He’s too tired from a long day of work for social interactions. That’s why TV is perfect: he doesn’t have to think, and he’ll have something to talk about at work tomorrow (how ‘bout them Yankees).

Finally, six hours later, he goes to bed, but not before grinding the coffee and putting it in the filter in the machine so he can just click it on when he gets up tomorrow morning.