The traffic was kind to me on the way out of the day job, so I took time to score a fresh pack of cigarettes before walking into the bar. From our earlier conversation, I figured I'd split most of the pack with the guy I was meeting. Opportunity was knocking again, and I planned to entertain.

Found a table on my own, because I was still early and he was still late. It's a part of how we work together; I can always make it on time and he can always stay for the tab. Sat and stewed about the day I'd had, patiently enduring while the blonde bobblehead tried to sell me something other than what I'd drink, and then acted antsy about when I'd get accompanied and get past nursing my first. Finally decided to focus in on the message the guy had sent to my phone to start this off: "Okay, I now officially have more work than God."

We're both technology consultants; we worked at the same consulting shop once, back around the time we all found out there were people who would fly a jet into a building on purpose. I kept working for somebody else; he went to work for him. His one-man shop keeps threatening to outgrow him, so he occasionally has chances for me to moonlight a bit, to ease his load and pick up checks. Last fall I covered some work for him to send him to his annual week-long party in Rio with a clear conscience. He's a barrel of everything one can be said to be a barrel of.

He strode right through the middle of the bar's open double doors, speaking on his cellphone at full speed. Blinked the sunlight away, and then noticed me, and this is what he said down that line: "Hey, he's here! I gotta go. Yeah. [grin] Yeah. [click]" The handshake ensued, then the ordering, then the finding of a quieter table. As we walked to it, he said "Hey, you like my business attire?" (New, solid-color T-shirt; wise, experienced jeans.) "I'm mostly working out of my house now. Haven't filled my gas tank in three weeks." I complimented his planning and judgment in all these matters, tossed the pack of smokes on the table, and began the negotiation in the traditional way: "So, what the hell is going on?" The cigarettes began to go away, and the beers to be refilled, as he spoke.

Of the current software crisis, similar to ones we'd worked through before.

Of the current software opportunity, technology new to us both but a preapproved hourly rate that could buy beer much, much faster than we could drink it.

Of the current software partnership, offering an infinity of free training and a niche in yet another technology which could make us national specialists, them coming to us: long-term, high-pay, our-way.

Somewhere amid all the stories, I asked him where all these new things are coming from, how is he making these contacts. Tapping another smoke from the pack, he smiled that goddamn smile and said "Drinking with random strangers."

Sensing I was buying into his methods, he leaned forward and began speaking in earnest. "Everything's ready for me to take the next step. But I can't chase it all down by myself, man. We've talked about this, I know what you can do. I've been thinking for years you're the only guy I'd want to bring in on this, you're the guy that can help me make this work. Listen..." And he proceeded to outline compensation, a package that could keep a man with my responsibilities responsible, while living life in experienced jeans. "We do things right, we make people happy, we get stuff done. It's a pretty good way to spend the day..." And I could feel the set of my mouth change as I thought of the day that I'd actually spent.

Of determining how to tell someone diplomatically that they shouldn't pay me to tell them the (metaphorical) sum of two apples and two oranges, especially if they were going to propose that I plant two fruit trees to research it. I can senselessly waste their money better than that.

Of figuring out every detail of how something would work... and then not actually making it happen, because actually doing what I was brought in to do is the next round of funding. Look but don't touch, again some more. Yeah, there's a way to keep a man happy and on top of his game. (After months of this, I wonder if I'll ever remember how to finish anything ever again. This isn't even tantric...)

Of telling comrades who have been instructed to look to me for help that they can't have the software tools they need that day, and watching their opinions of me visibly drop. Only because when I ask the people whom I've been instructed to look to, they say it's against policy for them to help without the request taking days of duration and hours of everyone's lives. Way to back me up, there, fellas. Tell me again who sent me out into this clusterfuck in the first place?

I shake my head to get back to where I am, and tell my colleague he's picked the right day to talk to me. I ask that we focus on the short term, and finish framing up the deal we can do that night. I stand, shake his hand; I walk away, leaving him the pack, and the tab.

Driving away, I turn the stereo off to better hear what the road sounds like when you're going somewhere, with visions of things I only half recognize floating through my beer-laden head. Possibly including sugarplums, who can tell. I'm deconstructing it all, every aspect of this day and those to follow, and putting the pieces back together funny in my head.

About a mile from my house, my phone buzzes - I dig it out. He's got one more thing to tell me, the outcome of the call he ditched while we talked. He just found that one of his partnerships gives him cheap access to the software tool I got slapped around about that day, along with a million others. He's a kid in a candy store about it, and wants me to come play too. I tell him that's a sweet idea.

Maybe it's time to change problems again.