So, today was an “exciting” day at work. Usually, I like it when something out of the usual happens because it makes the day fly by and adds a little spice to what can sometimes be a monotonous series of the same old tasks. But in this instance, it was terrible, because the exciting thing was the fact that the air conditioning was broken.
Not “broken” like it usually is, but straight-up not working at all. By the time 3pm rolled around, I was actually sweating. When I get hot (which is rarely, because I’m basically cold blooded), I get pretty crabby. So needless to say, my mental poetry writing was basically “Screw this customers are the worst it’s too damn hot isn’t this a great poem?”
Anyway, rather than battle it out with my irritability, I figure it’s part of the project of turning a workaday life into art to let it go where it wants. So I give you today’s poem:
Is It Hot In Here?
Yes, actually, I have noticed the heat.
I’m sorry you’re sweating, but you do get to leave.
I’ve been here since 11, not leaving ‘til 5.
And believe it or not, I’ve noticed it’s hot.
I’ve waded through still air as it turns
In pitiful little circles through two tiny fans,
Not meant to cool a store brimming
With agitated guests, disgruntled employees.
Not sure who’s angrier—them, or me.
Their faces drenched in sweat, shirts wet.
Eager to leave, but not enough to forsake
“Designer brands at bargain prices.”
“Can you turn up the air?”
I paste on a smile, try not to scream,
Say: “Believe me, sir, I would if I could.
I’m hot, too,” and probably hotter than you.
Note: You may have noticed this poem is pretty transparent in inspiration. It’s a rage poem about rude customers and broken air conditioning. Because the world definitely needed one of those.
~Confused about what’s happening here? Check out the intro post for the details!~