Stupidity in Humidity

STUPIDITY IN HUMIDITY


The humidity had somehow strangely increased overnight. One usually expects the early morning air to be refreshing and cooler then that of the previous night during these long hot days of summer; but this morning was the exception.

Stepping outside, the humidity hit you like a right cross from Ali. It hung in the air like a thousand giant spider webs, making even the shortest of strolls labor intensive. The moisture in the air soaked instantly through ones clothes in the matter of a couple of steps. It was as if you had put your clothes on fresh from the washing machine, before the spin cycle. Your shirt clings to your chest like saran wrap on a bowl of fruit. Breathing was difficult at best. With each breath the humidity seemed to fill your lungs with the water that hung in the air. After only two minutes it felt like you were drowning. Sweat flowed from every pore on your body as you struggled to take your next step.

Then you see it, up in the distance, a mere few steps away, but somehow it seems like miles to you now. There it sat, like the star of Bethlehem, guiding your way, the flickering red lights of the sign in the window of Joes Bar-N-Grill. Its letters half burned out. You try to wipe the sweat from your eyes, but your hands are even wetter then your face. You squint and can make out the few letters still lit. ‘__R _ON___ION’. It’s beckoning to you, urging you to press on. Tempting you to run to get there quicker. But you are moving at your fastest pace, merely a staggering crawl.

The humidity pulls on you like an anchor tied around your waist. You’re exerting more energy with each step you take then you thought humanly possible. Each time the sole of your shoe hits the concrete of the sidewalk you hear the squishing sound of the wetness inside of your shoes. You feel the combination of moisture and sweat oozing between your toes.

Your lips and mouth are the only things that are dry, as dry as the martini your grandmother used to drink. You wonder how this could be. The world around you is drenched in the sweltering humidity. Your hair is mangled in a mixture of sweat and humid moisture. But your lips, they feel chapped and cracked from the dryness. Your mouth is so dry you can’t work up enough saliva to spit out the rancid taste of the air that has permeated your taste buds.

Only a few more steps, you tell yourself. Just a couple more steps. You slump against the wall in the entrance way. You reach out to grab the knob. You turn it with the last bit of energy you have left. Your body leans into the door, your weight pushing it open. You fall to the floor inside.

Twenty voices yell out in unison, ‘For Gods sake close that damn door. We’re not trying to air condition the whole city.’

You drag yourself across the floor to let the door close. You’ve made it. The coolness encases you. The sweat and moisture covering your body now begins to feel like a thousand tiny ice droplets. You start to shiver from the cold, fresh, dry air. You pull yourself up and lean against the bar. The bartender throws you a dry towel and asks that old stupid question.

“Hot enough for ya?”

I didn’t get up that morning expecting to commit cold blooded murder; it was just a tragic set of events that led up to my being forced to kill. As it turns out, humidity and stupidity are a lethal combination.

They say with good behavior I’ll be out in twenty years.