Mr. Yao is cramping my style. This gentleman is a fifty-something Chinese investment broker who likes to visit during my nightshifts. This is problematic because it cuts into valuable sauna and nap time.

I’ve known him for the few years I’ve worked here and I suppose we’re friends. He owns a condo here that he uses as his office. His secretary lives there in an unorthodox arrangement that seems sexually peculiar. Like many in my monkeysphere, Mr. Yao is an eccentric character. He has slyly tipped me off to the fact that he’s a millionaire, yet he still unabashedly roots around in the lobby wastebasket for Subway 2-for-1 coupons. On the weekend he often brings in two girls with him that are younger than I, all gussied up in hootchie gear. He is married with kids but apparently is a week-end sugar daddy also.

For some reason, he loves me. The other guards have confirmed this, apparently I’m his favorite topic of discussion. He generally comes in early at 4am or so to check the Asian markets before the day begins. Often, he’ll reek of weed and engage me in lengthy conversations. I think he likes to bounce investment strategy off of me, because he’ll talk about companies, political movements or whatever is topical in the news. I don’t know if it’s just because he’s stoned, or if I’m just so delightful to talk to, but he’ll sometimes stay for hours chatting me up. He likes to break the ice by bringing newspaper clippings of random topics that he thinks I’ll find interesting.

Currently he is bugging me to install games on his laptop. He keeps buying these cheap bargain bin PC games but he doesn’t know how to install them. So he accumulates a bunch of them, and then brings them to me with his laptop. He pays me and brings me goodies and stuff so I suppose it’s not that bad.