18 August 2005

Only two Smints Left

It climb the steps to the dojang, the temperature rising a degree with each step. The dehumidifier is broken; stuck on humidify. My tie is non-regulation.

It must be thirty degrees in here and we're wearing suits. Sat snugly behind a cramped table which is wrapped in black, heat-friendly fabric. There is only one fan and it is oscillating. I am the only person to whom it affords any respite. The ranks of red and white sweat in their thick cotton suits.
Tea and biscuits arrive. I avail myself of an orange squash and a bottle of water. In our delerium, the biscuits are scoffed, not savoured. The few reminaing crumbs are fastidiously picked up, regarded sorrowfully and then consumed. Steve's bottle of water has a deformed bottom and will not stand up.
The Smint Siutation has not improved. A tentative shake of the box brings worried looks from the table.
It's....so hot. We are out of biscuits and have only two Smints left. Water is in plentiful supply, but there is no end in sight. The sea of foam rubber floor blends in the haze with the asbestos ceiling. The single ceiling fan shimmers in the heat haze. It could be stationary as far as I know
The Smints are gone. We gaze longingly at the empty dispenser. We occasionally shake it, but to no avail. There is division at the table as the two girls are clearly hoarding biscuits. Not wanting to disrupt our final hours, we yawn at the sweating throng.

No comments:

Post a Comment