Overtime on a Monday

It’s already Tuesday as I write this. I should be sleeping. I should have gone to sleep the moment I got home so I wouldn’t be a zombie at work tomorrow, but screw that. I need to type this out so I’ll feel more like a human being and less like a machine.

I had to work late to finish writing copy for something or other. The rain had picked up by then. The sidewalks had about an inch of water on them, just high enough to seep into my poor, well-worn Anthology ballet flats. I’ve had these shoes for little more than a year and they have served me quite well. I love how the leather in-soles keep my feet relatively dry even when they sweat.

But leather in-soles cannot keep feet dry from rainwater. They get squishy. Like you’ve got Jell-O in your shoes. Also, just how clean is that water soaking into your shoes? I don’t want to know.

It’s hard to ignore the icky feeling when you have to sit in a shuttle for an hour. I tried to distract myself. Gazing out the rain-spattered window, I discovered my new contact lenses are not adjusted for astigmatism. Look! Arcs of light from a streetlamp! Except it’s not real, my eyes are making it up.

The shuttle had been on the road ten minutes when it hit me. What could be worse than having to sit still for an hour with wet, clammy feet?

The smell of other people’s feet.

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