What a soaker!


I'm not sure how hot it is outside these days, but inside the building at work it has routinely been slightly over 100 degrees. That's Fahrenheit to you, Myrtle. My work shirt, proudly emblazoned with the company logo, looks like the a wet t shirt contest gone awry at a frat kegger. It's so saturated with perspiration that I duck out the back door to the dumpster in order to wring it out so I don't have to put up "Caution: wet floor" signs on the sales floor. This, as it turns out, is an excellent idea; Sky and Freedom, two diehard hippies from Floyd who are shopping for old lumber for some kind of art I'd frankly love to go see, notice that my freshly-wrung shirt is now sporting a tie-dye look, albeit a subdued look. "It's monochromatic" I offer to my two acquaintances who have more talent than I could ever comprehend having. Now, I'm not sure what monochromatic means, exactly, but in sales one must think on one's feet. As it turns out, Sky nods understandingly while Freedom (Free for short) expresses his wish that the shirt had more color -more "hue".


Mike is making do with the second floor in an effort to deal with this somewhat oppressive heat (humidity). In his defense, he works full time and needs air conditioning every now and then. I'm only a part time worker, so I can deal with it a little easier. Well, except for last week when I had to leave work an hour and a half early due to shortness of breath. I found that humiliating, since I was a desert rat for five years in the New Mexico sun while pursuing an undergraduate degree. I'm conditioned to 120 degree summer afternoons. What a wimp! 95 degrees and I fall to my knees on the dock floor like a B-movie sidekick looking for a lost contact lens in a bar brawl. Brent, mercifully, reminds me that I'm "not in my twenties anymore", and that I need to keep an eye on my elderly health. Hmm.



I'd put a paper bag over my head, except it might get wet with sweat and fall apart.