39 Just Like a Book by Ryan Heinzerling Thomas reclined in his favorite chair at his favorite coffee shop, waiting for his favorite espresso while reading the New York Times. I bet you know his type. The circular glasses, blond-haired, odd-looking stranger that would poke their head into someone else’s conversation just to rub it in your face that he knew a thing or two about environmentalism. That was Thomas, my classmate. The guy who bragged about his composting. And his 82,000 dollar BMW with fifty miles to the gallon. And his father’s regular donations to the magnificent Princeton or the fact that a fashion model just happened to swing by his house the previous evening. He made it obvious that he was of a higher class, and made sure to remind others that this was not a class they could sign up for. Thomas was that guy, and nobody really liked Thomas. I worked at the coffee joint during my free periods. Free turned out to be a loose term as I was sentenced to share them with Thomas. You spent time with Thomas because you lost something, usually a bet. During school gatherings, Thomas always made an announcement for the “Outdoorsmans Club,” which he used as a way to get the school to fund a ski trip to Beaver Creek every year. A friend of mine lost a bet once and had to awkwardly stand up with Thomas for the next three of his announcements, which, of course, made everyone laugh. Really any association with Thomas stripped you of any dignity you thought you thought you had. I joked with my friends that Thomas liked to forget he was a senior in high school, he was determined to have his midlife crisis before he turned eighteen.
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