Monday, June 18, 2012

Sweat Shop

Man, it is AWESOME living on the 6th floor of a building. The views, the distance from street's just amazing.

Hey, you know what's NOT amazing? When the only elevator in the building is...dun dun dunnnnn...Out Of Service.

I didn't notice it until tonight when I was on my way out to the gym. Thaaaat's right, I pried myself away from the cool comfort of my apartment to go sweat in a room full of other sweaty people. While it was 92 degrees outside. Gross! But, I'm just a baller like that. Anyway, I was in a hurry, so I only barely registered the OUT OF ORDER sign on the elevator doors. I shrugged and bopped down 6 floors to class. 

You caught that part about "barely registering the sign" right? Because after class, I had the genius idea to do some grocery shopping and even decided to pick up a bottle (or 4) of vino. I got out of my car and carried my water bottle, groceries, wine, and boxing gloves to the front door of my building. I had barely managed to get my key in the door when I re-registered the yellow "OUT OF ORDER" sign on the elevator inside.

I briefly considered moving back to Claire's right then and there. All I REALLY need is food and wine, right? I could just move right now. 

Could I leave my food in the car? Milk. And eggs. And it was still like 204 degrees outside. I certainly couldn't leave my gloves behind, because, you know, the cool factor. So I decided to go for it.

I was on the 2nd floor when I remembered a story a friend of mine told me. I think it was my former co-worker Kathleen who told me a story about her friend who went to a spinning class. She was all sweaty and gross and when she got home, she decided to clean her attic on a whim. The first sweat reabsorbed and then the second round of sweat like mixed with it or whatever, and she ended up like getting really sick or hospitalized or something.

I was still on the 2nd floor when I broke out in a panic-sweat. The more I tried to stop sweating, the more I seemed to sweat. What's a girl to do? 

It took me 45 minutes to get from the 2nd floor to the 3rd floor because I didn't want to sweat and the air was getting so thin I could barely breathe. I stopped and looked longingly at the floor I COULD have lived on, but Nooooooooo...SOMEone (me, duh) needed a "sick view of the city." I wanted to cry, but didn't want to waste what little water I had left in my body. 

When I got to the 5th floor, my pants were noticeably looser. I had the start of a tiny beard growing and I had befriended a volleyball I found and named Wilson. 

At the 6th floor, I was ready to collapse. It was the year 2015 already and I had missed the birth of my first child and our first Martian president. But, I made it. I made it into my apartment and even managed to get the now-expired milk and eggs into the refrigerator. I threw my gloves across the room and took a much-needed swig of lukewarm white wine. I started peeling off clothes out of fear of reabsorbing a second round of sweat and took a shower immediately.

Refreshed and finally after catching my breath, I sat down to set my phone timer for my dinner. I finally allowed myself to shed a tear when I realized I had left my phone in my car. 


sarah ABT said...

I had the start of a tiny beard growing and I had befriended a volleyball I found and named Wilson.


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