In my long-weekend giddiness last week, I forgot about this guy. President’s Day weekend had officially begun on Friday’s 5:27. The guy across the aisle–40, non-descript, flashiest thing about him his Burberry scarf–was yapping on his cellphone while quaffing a gigantic coffee from Junior’s in Grand Central. He was pulling off the multi-tasking triathlon: the laptop, the Blackberry, the phone. Into the latter, he spoke:

“We like his resume, but I didn’t know what to baseline him against.”

Two questions. Why would a man drink a gigantic coffee from Junior’s at 5:30 on the eve of a long weekend, and what the f*&% does “baseline” mean? That’s a tennis thing, right?

I knew I should’ve gone to business school.