Sultry Hot Here!

The last time I was this miserable was when I lived in Maryland. It is unbearably humid here. Each morning I dread getting out of bed.

On the weekdays, I get up in the morning, spend time on the makeup and getting my thick hair all smooth and shiny with the curls finally resting in all the right places. I go outside, walk back to the corner, wait three minutes for the light to change, and walk the other direction to the Metro. Sometimes I have to run to make my train because the stupid walk light take eons.

Usually the escalator is broken at the Metro (it's a 50-50 chance). When it's out of commission, I take the two flights of stairs up to the outdoor platform and wait about six minutes in the thick hot air for the yellow train. I get into a barely air-conditioned car and start fanning myself with whatever ethics article I am supposed to be reading for class.

A couple minutes later I get off at the first stop and wait up to four minutes outdoors for the blue train. If I'm lucky there is a slight breeze. I get on board into a sometimes air-conditioned car. If I'm lucky I get a seat. By now I feel that one single droplet of sweat drip all the way down my back and into my waist band.

I fan myself. Depending on how many times the train stops and sits waiting for the platform ahead to clear, about twenty to thirty minutes later I get off at the Rosslyn station. I cross the platform and climb as far as I can up the 6-story escalator (one time I counted over 90 steps). Sometimes I stop to rest before continuing. I get to the top of the outdoor station and start walking up Wilson Boulevard to my office. I feel the hot sun searing my back.

Usually I'm carrying my purse, my eco-bag containing shoes, lunch, water bottle, etc., and my school book satchel. I hike several blocks all uphill to my office. I arrive in the un-airconditioned lobby, commiserate with the miserable security guard, and wait for one of the three slow elevators. I fan myself.

Eventually I make it to the 12th floor and go straight to the bathroom to dry off with paper towels and try to repair my hair. The back of my shirt is soaked. My underwear is soaked. The makeup is running off my shiny face - not worth fixing, so I just pat it dry. My mascara is smudged, giving me racoon eyes. My scalp is sweaty. My bangs are gone, having been replaced with curly, pointy, frizzy hair spikes sticking out from my forehead in multiple directions. My hair has doubled in size and is surrounded by a halo of frizz.

I look in the mirror and reiterate out loud how much I hate living here. I'm reminded that I have to face another eight hours on a job I hate. I walk to the office suite wanting nothing but a cool shower and a fresh change of clothes—something I won't be privy to for another 14 hours if it's a school day.

Someone says good morning and I grunt back, walking briskly to my dark office where I ensure that the thermostat is cranked down. I turn on the fan on my desk and plop myself in front of it. I put down my ethics fan and sit to change shoes. I'm so hot that all I can think about for the next 30 minutes is cooling off. Anyone who dares stop by my office and ask me to do work is immediately shunned with the fakest of smiles.

Thirty minutes later I feel a sinus infection coming on because I'm sitting in a blissfully freezing cold room in my still-damp clothes. I try to work. After about an hour my clothes are somewhat dry.

Eight hours drag miserably by, I change back into my walking shoes, and I do the humidity commute all over again.