No, sorry. I meant to bother you much earlier with this but the day got completely away from me, but I can tell you why. Not that anyone cares, but I thought it was worth mentioning.
So, Front Page last night, blowing off some steam from a worthless presentation that had to be done….because the process said it had to be inside the 30-day window of the event that caused it, whether or not the actual facts were known. You know, a process-driven flail, totally extraneous to real life.
I got it. I have been to that rodeo before, and I had to make up some facts just in case. That is uncharitable- I used the same process to devise intricate exercise scenarios and Iraqi ground order of battle data in wartime.
I made them up, because I had to.
Anyway, amid that particular flap, I experienced a massive IT failure at the Casa Socotra, which was selective and from an external view, was totally indistinguishable from having been laid off again and locked out of the company system over the weekend. I could have generated the briefing with less agony on Monday, and of course everything cascaded into Tuesday, so when eventually the thing was presented and in the rear view, the air came out of my shoes and I was ready for a swim and a couple short vodkas at the Front Page.
As I drove home via the Toll Road and I-66, I was already thinking of the coolness of the water against my skin and the feeling of raw animal power that flows into my upper body with each stroke, though the skies darkened and then erupted in flashes of lightning and sheets of rain.
I don’t mind swimming in the rain- I mean, am I supposed to be afraid of getting wet? But Radek the Polish lifeguard took the opportunity to follow the Pool Rules and shut down the facility. In view of the fact that I agree that fitness is not worth the chance of electrocution, I donned an aloha shirt with the appropriate mood theme and just went to the bar.
It was a good crowd and had almost everything that I appreciate at happy Hour. By the time it was done, the skies were clearing and I hoped the pool might be open again, but it was not. Radek’s bike was still there, but I imagined that he was down in the basement in the Life Guard room, and couldn’t see that the sun was visibly setting with almost two hours before official closing.
I was walking down the sidewalk to the stairs to go down and roust him back to duty when my Taiwanese pals emerged from the building.
They are always doing something fitness related, and I often encounter them around the campus as they walk the halls, all the corridors, 8th floor down to the 1st, or venture out into the neighborhood to plod along with determination when it is warm enough.
They ridiculed me for my slavish adherence to the water, and I paused, thinking that Radek might be watching some soulful Polish drama on his iPad, courtesy of my wifi account, which is a perk I normally bestow on the Guards due to the numbing sameness of twelve hours on the concrete.
“The hell with it,” I thought. I walked back to the unit, crushed some ice, mixed a drink and watched enough news on the flat screen to become upset, and then promptly fell asleep in the chair while burning some dinner.
That would normally have been enough for one evening, and upon waking at midnight, I hosed out the charred debris in the Lodge 8-inch cast iron fry pan and decided that it actually was.
Trundling back to bed, I inserted myself in the covers and managed to sleep until about five, the usual gold standard for rousing, and thought that I might have finally beaten the jet-lag accumulated on the Hawaii trip back into the box. I dragged the tablet into the peace and comfort of the bed, turned it on and cleared off the email that had piled up overnight.
I got up long enough to grind the coffee and turned on the coffee maker. I was ready to start the day. Almost. I slipped back under the covers, and shortly before six, waiting to hear the four beeps from the machine in the kitchen to signify that it was time to start the caffeine coursing through my veins, I thought about just turning over for a second in the delicious coolness…..
…and I was in dreamland. An incredibly vivid dreamland.
I was driving the Hubrismobile with sense of entitlement that only a CLK500 V8-powered German machine can give you. Through some mischance, I found myself in a retrograde maneuver outside a public building that could have been the District, or Detroit. Shaken by the loss of control, I parked the car and walked into the building.
There was an event in progress, and cake, of course, the fancy kind with paper to guard the frosting, courtesy of the campaign entourage of one of the Presidential candidates. I actually wound up in a discussion with the Candidate at one point, and we talked about all sorts of stuff.
I sensed the Candidate was- well, interested in me- and you know where that sort of thing goes, and I realized I had lost my wallet, and that swift action was required. I bade my adieu to the Candidate- and BTW, much nicer in dreamland than elsewhere- only to discover that the Hubrismobile had been towed away.
Undaunted, I strode off to get alternative documents and financial means. Emerging from the neighborhood, I walked quickly past a cemetery with old stones and turned to face traffic where I hailed the first oncoming taxi.
I got lucky, since the cabbie swerved off the boulevard and onto the lawn next to the tombstones. Approaching the stopped vehicle, I noted that while there was indeed a “For hire” sign on the roof, the vehicle was a Vauxhall mini-truck from the UK, and advertised “Fish delivery” on the panels. I moved to jump in the front seat, but of course the right seat was where the driver was located in a vehicle configured for the English roads. Limping around to the other side of the vehicle I opened the door and the odor of Halibut assailed my nostrils.
The driver waved me in, pointing to the solid copper floorboards required by the fishmongering trade. I was about to say something clever that would have summed up the dream nicely….when the news from the clock radio beside the bed interrupted Rimsky Korsakov’s Scheherazade, just when it was getting good.
I blinked up at the ceiling. The news sucked. Someone at Justice had decided to translate the word “Allah,” spoken in English, to the word “God,” so we could understand it better.
Really? I could still smell fish. And had I actually been attracted to the Candidate? This all might be much worse than I thought, and finally got out of bed.
Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com