100TWC - Day 83: Breakfast

John examined the invitation for the fifteenth time.

EXECUTIVE BRIEFING CENTER
START TIME: 07:30AM
BREAKFAST WILL BE SERVED

It was his first time at the EBC. The start time had been a surprise. He'd heard of breakfast meetings, of course, but had always assumed they were one of those things whose myth had grown in the telling and that in reality they were neither as early nor as intense as the legend would have it. In this case, at least, the early aspect seemed to have been proven.

He wasn't sure, either, what kind of "breakfast" to expect. His inner trencherman had been nagging him for days to preload with a bowl of cereal and some toast. Then at least he'd have guarded against mid-morning munchies, should the breakfast prove to be nothing more than a croissant and a cup of coffee.

In the end, he'd decided to go with it. Risk an attack of the shakes around 11am for the sake of appearances. The entire complex was a minefield of snack machines anyway, so if push came to shove he could always pop out during one of the smokers' breaks and grab a candy bar or a carton of drinking yoghurt.

Start time, breakfast spread. The third thing he had no hint about was the content of the briefing. His entire management team had been flown over with barely 24 hours' notice and no warning of what all the fuss was about. Even with the remainder of his travel day to acclimatise he still felt jet-lagged. He could only hope it wouldn't affect his appetite.

The early morning sun was already hot as he made his way to the squat anonymous building at the Northern edge of the campus. He still thought 'campus' was a bit bogus. There was no research undertaken here. No learning. The corporation was not connected with education in any way. Just because the three young entrepreneurs who'd started it five years before still thought of themselves as college students shouldn't mean the rest of the company had to behave as if they were 19. His approach triggered the automatic doors. He gave his name at the desk and followed the directions to the first of four double doors in a wide but featureless corridor. One of the doors had been propped open; the other read "EBC". It was all about the acronyms. Or, he mentally corrected himself, the TLAs. Acronyms was more rightly restricted to abbreviations that made a real word. The smell of hot coffee and warmed pastries drifted out into the corridor. The sympathetic rumbling of his stomach confirmed that jet-lag had not suppressed his appetite.

Three of his colleagues had arrived ahead of him and were already filling their plates from the breakfast buffet. John stopped just inside the door, surveying the scene, then reminded himself to act as though everything was "just normal." Don't be impressed; don't be intimidated. Act as if you expected everything to be just like this.

An entire wall - the long wall - of the rectangular briefing room was filled with tables, and the tables were filled with food. A wry smile briefly flickered around John's mouth as he noticed that there were indeed croissants present. And the coffee he had smelled outside in the corridor. But that's where the similarity with his pessimistic prediction ended. Croissants, yes. But eight different varieties. Chocolate, almond, plain, cheese, fruit, raisins, and a couple of others he didn't recognise. There was a toasting machine nestling among a pile of fresh breads. Pumpkin bread, crumpet bread, spicy bun loaf, pancakes, waffles, white and brown bloomer, cobs and tiger bread. There were jams and conserves, marmalades and syrups. An assortment of cold meats, chorizo, salami (peppered and plain), ham, braun, mortadella and, once again, at least half-a-dozen meats he didn't recognise. Large open tubs of cereal revealed their contents next to jugs of milk (1%, 2% and whole), cream, custard and plain yoghurt. Flakes of many shades, granola, bran, muesli, rice krispies, coco pops, oatmeal. Then came the cheeses. John had been led to believe Americans were not especially adventurous when it came to cheese. The impressive array in front of him put the lie to that. Blue cheeses, hard, soft, round, square, triangular, cheese in foil, cheese rolled in herbs, cheese with embedded fruit - and talking of fruit! The biggest bowl he had ever seen sat in the far corner. Bananas, apples (red, green and russet), oranges, grapes, kiwi, pineapple (peeled and sliced), melon (sliced), papaya, star fruit, passion fruit and -- yet again -- several kinds he was not familiar with.

He reached for a plate and walked up behind Ade Brundrett, who had only just started picking.

"Morning."
"Morning. Sleep alright?"
"At first yeah. Woke up around three. You?"
"Same."
"This is--"
"Don't. Not impressed. Not intimidated. Remember?"
"Umm... yeah. I am though."
"Which?"
"Both"

Ade laughed. "Yeah, me too."
John picked up a mug. "All this food, and only one kind of coffee?"
"I think it's a franchise thing."
"Oh. Don't suppose there's any tea?"
"Joking, right? And even if there was, you wouldn't want to drink it."