The esoteric title of this post may become a little clearer when you consider that it has been rather warm over this side of Australia lately. And, whatever temperature is forecast for the CBD of my fair city, please add at least five degrees to it in my place of work.
In fact, it has been so hot out there lately that I’ve started my tours with a pre-emptive strike. (Right up until the mike stopped working, to be followed shortly after by all airconditioning, water and reasonableness around all the venues: then I just agreed limply with everything anybody said, ever. And it was all my fault.)
The pre-emptive strike: “Did you notice it was hot? Of course it is! And I caused it! You’ll notice it’s a lot hotter out in the Valley, too! That’s my doing, also! I am so, so SORRY!”
Doesn’t win me any more friends but does cut down a tad on the preliminary whining.
To explain things a little bit more clearly, my bus is enclosed. It has no openable windows and no outside egress for air, apart from the door and the emergency hatch. The engine is internal and my seat is right next to it. I am required to wear closed in shoes, long black pants and a thick polyester shirt.
To explain things even more clearly, on Friday I drank 6 litres of water. I am not even remotely joking, as I am keeping track of water intake, due to the kidney stones incident. I was on the road for ten and one quarter hours. I did not use the bathroom once. IT IS HOT.
I wash my uniform daily. I use deodorant (when boot polish is not to hand). I wash myself several times daily in this heat.
Today, day off (admin accident – they accidentally forgot to notice I wasn’t rostered on to work and I accidentally forgot to remind them when I noticed the situation on Thursday – its been a hell of a week), and I am washing my clothes.
It was too hot to hang them outside so I decided to defer until later but took one outfit into the fan cooled bedroom to dry whilst I white zoned out. Then I could dress in that outfit to hang the other items out later, the elderly ladies of this immediate neighbourhood having already been exposed to way too much way me already, bearing in mind my desire for open windows and the cooling of a sweatbox house, combined with my forgetfulness over the matter of clothes.
That outfit is drying and giving off an aroma that is first pleasing, of fresh washed laundry, but which is now rapidly reminding me of charity shop donations in March.
Do you think that the odour has been impregnated from my work clothes or do you think that the washing chemical people decided to subtly influence the dried scent so that people would get used to smelling it and think that their clothes were clean, even if the compound didn’t do a great job?
I can’t make up my mind as to whether or not I am being unbelievably cynical (whilst at the same time, applauding them for a brilliant marketing ploy), or, on the other hand, I just smell so bad that I infect everything that has ever been near me.
(might just explain that NYE, I suppose)