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His name is BJ, he is the last to eat cake

14 May 2007, possibly 3.12pm… BJ shows the new freelancer the way to the boardroom on Level 3. Down the open-air stairs. The black-painted steps are only slightly worn with heavy use. Past the enormous and black semi-circle reception desk, behind which sits a young guy who will soon get his big chance to star in a Hollywood-backed war movie.

Pushing the large door forward, BJ quietly shows the freelancer into the agency’s largest boardroom. The freelancer has yet to see any of the agency boardrooms. Most of her briefings and meetings so far have been held on the ‘creative couch’ or in the agency cafe. “The boardrooms are for the suits”, the freelancer was told.

BJ and the freelancer stand up against the white plaster wall near a couple of production guys from downstairs, and near two or three of the division’s very male art directors. More than half of the 20-or-so chairs surrounding the heavy-lacquered oval table are filled with younger, mostly female ‘suits’. 

Those standing and those sitting vaguely look each other over. Most faces are familiar, even if the names aren’t. They stick to their groups, talking to the people they sit with or have managed to share a drink with at after-work get-togethers.

BJ politely agrees to list the names of all the people in the room. He has worked for the agency for a year and has watched the team grow from six to 40-plus people. Most new employees have been hired in the last few months.

He quietly points to the head of the table where a fresh-faced brunette in her early 20s is opening a white cake box. He quietly points from person to person around the table which is far longer than it is wide. He softly says each name – he does not want to draw too much attention to what he is doing.

The two production guys from downstairs walk over to BJ and the freelancer to form a conversation circle. The shorter, possibly Malaysian production guy is leaving the agency in a few days to travel around Asia, and then to work in Canada. The taller, fairer production guy will leave the week after to work for another company.

BJ quietly watches the freelancer question the two production guys. He smiles, then uses both hands to run his long, almost-black fringe from his face. He needs a haircut - he had said so the day before. Some days he wears his outgrown hair in a short ponytail, other days hair is held back by a zigzag headband buried into his slight curls.

He is different to the other designers he has sat with for the last few weeks. He doesn’t choose to wear the jeans/black jacket/t-shirt outfit that many creative agency men wear. He’s not a drinker, or a party-guy. His priority is his young Filipino family and spends his weekends doing things with his church group. Pictures of his pretty wife and two pretty kids rotate on his laptop throughout the day. In these pictures his hair is short.

As the brunette birthday girl lifts the cake out of the box, another birthday cake in a box arrives. It is a double-birthday. A late-30s 'suit' lifts a lemon tart from the box and onto the table. 

The Happy Birthday Song is sung and the cakes are cut. The co-workers politely sit and stand back and wait. BJ steps forward and begins to hand out slices of cake on napkins to each grateful person in the room. The freelancer declines to take a piece of lemon tart, despite it being her favourite. Over her couple of weeks at the agency BJ has already fetched her coffee, a big bag of M&Ms and a box of tissues.

Once all who wants cake has cake, BJ moves back to his spot near the freelancer against the wall. He smiles his Depp-like smile and brings the tip of the lemon tart to his mouth to take a bite. White powder falls down the flat surface of his grey wool jumper. He pauses to brush the powder from his chest before taking another bite. An avalanche of powder falls down his chest again. It does not embarrass him – he is comfortable with who he is.

The room begins to empty just before 3.30pm – people have meetings to go to, deadlines to meet. BJ and the freelancer walk to their fairly new desks at either side of a very exposed and busy walkway near the kitchen and toilets.

“You’re a piece of cake,” the freelancer says, re-using her grandmother’s groan-worthy joke system. BJ can’t help but giggle – he is high on lemon tart and thoroughly enjoys a moment of silliness. A few minutes later the room is quiet. The art directors and designers all facing their big Mac monitors.

A few weeks later the co-workers throw BJ going-away party. Boxes of his favourite Krispy Kremes are opened, champagne is popped and BJ the non-drinker is thoughtfully handed a cup of hot chocolate. Someone has adapted his frustrating but beautiful year-long project into a goodbye card. He is a sweet guy, and a rare familiar face in a changing environment – they are all disappointed to see him go.

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