Have you ever had a day you knew was going to suck starting at 6AM? You flat out, undoubtedly knew the suckosity needle was going to be buried deep into the red. Well, that’s the knowledge to which I began my day.
My eyes weren’t open when the first nudge of hell crinkled in my head. It was so muggy it was like breathing through gauze. I’m not talking a layer of gauze. I’m talking two, three mummies full jammed up your nose.
I walked to the shower, ankles dripping sweat to the soles of my feet allowing me to skate across the hardwood floor.
The shower itself didn’t matter. Because no matter how cold I placed the controller, by the time water hit my body, it had absorbed twice it’s weight in air molecules so was pounding my flesh like thousands of tiny evaporating fists.
The act of toweling off, a simple, often enjoyable task was rendered an Olympic endurance event. The act of gently allowing the towel to move across my body caused me to sweat so profusely it was rather Sysiphisian.
Resigned that I will indeed be rather moist today, I dress and steady myself to enter the world. I do so with a resolve to avoid my fellow man with all the will one can muster without actually moving, blinking or undue breathing. After all, I only took six changes of clothes with me.
The reason to avoid humans is directly due to the humidity. No, I’m not frightened by the odor I know will waft from them like a road kill carcass on a steamy highway.
It will be due to their demeanor and topic of conversation. They will take their piss poor attitude and use it to snipe and grumble while making sure I am up to date with today’s hot topic.
“Fucking humid as a bastard today, ain’t it?”
What gives you that idea, Gomer? The puddles collecting beneath my eyelids?
I’m sure, even after my years of experience dealing with folks of various ilk, the seventeenth time I heard that I would not only take a hostage I’d make him subsist on cups of his own sweat. Yeah, it’d be that bad a mood.
While standing, as still as possible, at the bus stop to go to work I notice the weather has altered the wildlife around me.
A squirrel is rubbing his fur off on a rock. A bird is flapping it’s wings wildly without flying. A homeless guy is down to sixteen parkas.
Right on time I see my bus come ’round the bend. I reach into my pocket (how come it’s wet in there?), pull out my public transportation card and watch as the bus speeds past.
I attempted to flag it down but all that did was flick fingertip sweat onto the windshield of a passing car causing their windshield wipers to automatically turn on.
Now what? The next bus isn’t for an hour which is not convenient for my work schedule. My only option is to trudge up the incredibly steep hill (if you don’t believe me check out the story on ass lugeing or if someone who’s been to my house would confirm this that would be nice) and ask my neighbors for a ride.
They are such great people they leave the chilled sanctity of their well sealed, cool home to venture outside into the broiling, concrete air. And directly into their ice producing air conditioned vehicle.
Finally, I get to my hot box of an office. Oh, there’s the theory of conditioned air but, as with most theories, it’s flawed.
The flaw is it doesn’t fucking work. If the door opens once the air conditioner writhes in agony like a supermodel after a two Fig Newton binge.
But I have solace. A few, albeit painful and difficult, steps away from is a supermarket fully stocked with cool, breathable air.
Good thing I have to get cat food, huh? The fact we were at a grocery store last night and walked directly past cat food – cheaper than this stores – means nothing to a man who hasn’t had a full, unobstructed breath in longer than is medically advisable.
Going out of my way to avoid contact – eye, physical, alien – I blissfully enjoy cat food wrangling. While slowly walking to the check out area I hear, to my side, a woman’s voice.
“Excuse me,” she intones. “Do you think my husband would like this?”
I stop because, to ask that question, she must know me. That is a logical assumption, am I correct?
Turns out, I wasn’t.
I look at her and have never seen her before. But, and here is where I err, I give her a benefit of the doubt. I meet many people. I don’t care about many people. I don’t remember many people I meet. Combine those, I meet a lot of people I don’t care about remembering.
“Do I know you?”
I will admit to being happy I’m inside this cool area because, if I wasn’t, at that moment I’m sure I would have burst into tiny beads of water that gently dropped to the ground to be quickly absorbed back into the atmosphere.
“Then why would you ask me if I thought your husband would like something?”
“Oh, you know, men are all alike.”
“You obviously weren’t promiscuous.”
I know what you’re saying, ‘Boy, Chris, even when you smell like a junk yard dogs testicles, you can still say truly offensive and tasteless things.’
Why, thank you. You’re right, that line deserved, no, forces some type of response. But it stealthily zipped past her like a grasshopper fart in a wind tunnel.
What to do? What to do? A normal person would walk away. But a normal person wouldn’t, first, be me and second have to go back into the malaise bouillabaisse. I figure if I linger longer I have a slim chance of survival.
So I attempt to out non sequitur her. I know, it’s not fair, I am a non sequitur but cut me some slack, I’m moist.
“Wouldn’t it suck if there was a heaven?”
Stricken, the woman gasps, “No! It would be wonderful. How could you say such a thing?”
“I’m kind of a wise ass, but that’s beside the point. Truly, it would suck. You’d be reunited with everyone you knew, right?”
“Even the uncle who touched you?”
“Ah, well, I’m not sure about that, but, it would be the greatest homecoming ever.”
“Yeah, that’s why it would suck. It would be too much work hiding behind clouds, ducking under Saint Peter’s robe avoiding all the chicks you said you loved just so you could fuck ’em.”
Have you ever stood in front of someone so speechless they couldn’t blink? I have and, to quote Ferris Bueller, I highly recommend it.