The two men eye each other across the desk. The two, maybe three seconds of mental sizing-up of the opponent gives both of them just enough time to notice each others flaws. Suit has a throbbing vein on his forehead that, with each heartbeat, brings T-shirt closer to a nervous breakdown. T-shirt's scruffiness bring out Suit's flowered tie, school principal instincts that make him want to punish this kid.
They stare into each others' eyes, trying to break down their opponents through stares. Suit's glare is full of authoritarian confidence while T-shirt stares back with a relaxed intensity that confuses Suit. He notices that the toothpaste stain on the collar of his polo makes Suit's eye twitch every time he turns it his way. He tries to take advantage of this to discomfort his nemesis.
Suit tries to play it cool, not to concede anything to this blatant abuse of conformity coming from this example of what is all wrong with today's youth. But he just can't. He strokes what little is left of his hair back and suddenly regrets it as he looks towards T-shirt's full head of hair, and the atrocity of keeping it in such a short buzzcut nearly kills him. His jealousy eats him up from inside. T-shirt lets out a small breath exposing a slightly crooked tooth that nags Suit for a reason he cannot explain.
T-shirt observes his quarry with disdain. He watches as the balding man strokes his silk tie as he undoes his jacket to sit down. The atmosphere reaches a peak point. The moment has come. The time for circling each other is nearing a close, and one must come out the glorious victor.
“So, you want to be the Product Placement and Promotion manager?” Suit's dull, monotonous corporate voice speaks, breaking under the strain of silent battle.
“Oh, yeah, it's been a lifelong dream of mine to stack shelves in a supermarket.”
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