Transport of delights


Today was another tough day for sleep; I hit the snooze button at six and got up at seven, feeling vaguely dreadful, then had to go in early for an eight-thirty call at work. I was in such a rush that I didn’t get to have any coffee until nine-thirty, when I had to trudge down six flights of stairs to go to the coffee shop because the machine in our office is still broken, and just makes grinding noises to threaten you when you want caffeine.

It’s not the walk down to the coffee shop I object to; it’s the incredibly slow lifts in the building, which make getting back up to the sixth floor highly tiresome. If I could take the stairs I would, but there’s no easy way into the stairwell from ground level.

Instead, you wait in the lobby, and people wander in from all sides and then go straight for the lift when it comes. Depending on which lift arrives and where you’re standing, you can find yourself usurped from your rightful place in the elevator queue by some johnny-come-lately who’s wandered in from another entrance to the building, which means you’re stuck in the lobby for another five minutes, and then by the time another lift arrives the lobby is again full of people who’ll push past you to get in.

Nowadays I take no pride in forcing my way in, and leaving my backpack on to make it that much more uncomfortable for the other people in the lift. There’s only one way we’re going to learn.

I had Spanish tonight, so I didn’t get home until after nine, but fortunately La Serpiente Aquatica Negra woke up to shout at me, so I didn’t miss out on that treat. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll wake up refreshed and ready for action. Or at least rested for Wednesday’s ablutions at the track.


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