The Angry Dieter

the topic du jour at work is the weather.

there are 2 types of people at work. Those who have airconditioning, and those who do not.

I am one of the ‘have nots’ and whilst about half of us are coming into work, looking refreshed and ready for a new day; the other half of us struggle with heat exhaustion as we lie and twist vainly under fans feebly pushing around warm air in the bitter hope that the sweat on our bodies will cool us as we slumber. We have had a record number of lates this week, mostly due to those who are sleeping in, a quick survey (4 people), which probably isn’t an accurate picture, of those who are late, shows that all of these people do not have airconditioning in their abodes.

I, myself, have struggled to sleep, instead tossing and turning in bed till 3am knowing that the alarm is due to go off in less than four hours time. Yet still, I drag myself out of bed, and slop into the bathroom, peel off my sleeping wear (you will need to be imaginative, I am not going to fill in the blanks) and slip into the shower, with hot water.

Why on earth would someone want to shower in hot water? I hear at least one person ask, Well, it’s because when you get out of the shower and towel dry, your body is hotter than the air around it, and thus, it cools you down, making you feel sooo much better for about 30 seconds. By that time you have wandered naked into the bedroom, the water drops evaporate, and your body is now aware you tricked it, and started to sweat again.

So, you look for the comfy cotton bra and undies, nothing fancy thanks - locate some cotton shirts and put them on, the work pants, and wipe your face from the sweat. Put on your moisturiser, and in my hotbox of a flat, microbeads of sweat have formed along my upper lip. I look for the reconstruction kit in my drawers, and try and cover up the bags under my eyes, which are big enough to be listed as overweight if you took them through and checked in at an airport to fly overseas.

By the time I have gotten to work, some 30 minutes after exiting my hotbox, my hair is flat, face is shiny and all the work and effort I put into looking good, only lasted as long as the bus ride. Well at least I didn’t scare the passengers. I must accept, as does everyone else, that Perth, in March, is fubar’d.

March 7th, 2007 | Category: Odd moments | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL