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Fish Is What I’m Called If I Was In Prison

From what I gathered, this is the last batch for training. But coming in on the third day doesn’t put me in a homey position with the others who came on board the same time.

 

Walking inside the room, I caught a whiff of the amity the people have formed and I ambled inside the lion’s den feeling alone and vulnerable. Now I understand what they mean when they say surrounded by hordse but deserted. Eyes on me, I gave a smile; not for friendship but for false comfort and flashing once teeth show that I am ready to exchange blows.

 

Two days, yes, two days is enough to leave you far behind. Training for United Airlines is demanding; it will measure your ability to soak in every information provided in the speed of light. The guide has the ability to cram everything in a jostle of fast talks, so: Your hands and eyes must stay coordinated in drills and your ears need to give wide berth to pass immense information to your head. With the heavy air, everyone is devised to keep up or be consumed by the void left by their inability to draw level. I on the other hand, before stepping in, brought every ounce of attentiveness and gusto I can summon to survive and catch up. But obstacles have a nice way of finding you.

 

Unlike the ones who came in the first day, I am left to watch them warily as they amble along the exercises. I can see that they, even with complete notes, two days of training under their belt and their access to the system – which is the whole nine yards of the knowledge base – is still left struggling to pull through. What more for a newbie like me? I, who was called hastily without proper equipment is rammed into the roaring current. What chance do I have to survive?

 

No system to work on, no background information, no debreifing, no map, no nothing … it sums my situation up to a well explained I’m screwed. Sometimes I wonder, do they really want me here?

 

I am continuing. This is a good chance for me to prove that I am still one sharp tool. This might just be a load of false bravado but I have to attempt the leap. I know this fish won’t need tattoos or Pugnac to break free. I will rise above this.

Brimstone and Sulfur

Rain just came crashing down after a long hot sticky day. It poured like there’s no tomorrow and stopped as soon as it began … premature – rain god must be a guy.

Been up all night writing so it means I’ll be asleep when everyone is up. I thrive in the night, I’ve been doing so since college. But the extreme heat we’re having lately have been inducing my head to shots of pain. If I’m awake at night my day will be torture lying in bed tossing and turning trying to sleep. The sheets sticks to you and you will later realize that it has wrapped you in a stifling bunch.

A friend once asked me if I knew how hot it was in hell, I gave her a quizzical look and replied that I had no idea since I’ve never been there and I have no plans of visiting. She laughed, I didn’t. Although I’ve read that it was as hot as boiling brimstone and sulphur, so if anyone knows of its boiling point then perhaps that can help my friend with her query.

It sure feels like hell outside at noon. It’s unbearable to just walk without an umbrella since you can’t see much due to the overwhelming brightness of the surroundings. Dark glasses (or shades to some) not only is fashionable but a must have trudging about. I on the other hand, have it two folds … Dark glasses and umbrella. I can’t stand the smell of sunscreen – and I only slap it on if I’m a few feet away from a body of water – and it becomes icky when left out whilst you sweat so I take advantage of other things I can use to repel the glaring heat.

This commentary is senseless; it presents neither a thesis or analysis, just a blunt observation of the obvious.

Gawd, is this what happens when you’re having heat stroke? Thank Heaven’s for the rain.