In all the years I lived in Denver, I can’t remember a 106-degree day. I can specifically remember a 105-degree day when I was working as a bike messenger, but I don’t think it ever hit that extra degree.
This is not only broiling heat, but nice and humid too. Pardon the morbid imagery, but it’s like walking around inside an oven. When you encounter another human outside you both squint at one another, wondering why this other idiot isn’t inside with the air-conditioning. There’s an unspoken sense of camaraderie: looks like we’re both going to die exploring this harsh planet, friend.
On a day like today I can only swim. Screw the job hunt, and preparing for college can wait another day. Today the entire Earth is burning up, and the pool is the only safe place, a refuge where me and a ragged group of survivors are making our last stand against the zombies.
Okay, sometimes I pretend that the apartment manager is a zombie.
Thank Zeus for the pool. The pool is a godsend anyway, but on a day like today it transcends mere recreation and becomes a necessity. I put on my goggles and jump in, the pavement so hot that there can’t be any hesitation at the water’s edge. -- Andrew Orvedahl
Andrew Orvedahl is a comedian, and person, born and raised in Denver who recently moved from sweet Denver to Riverside, California. He hopes this Week in the Life blog series will provide a tiny glimpse into the magnitude of regret he feels.