~I walk across the hot pavement, the sun beating down all round me; towards the comfort of the air-conditioned mail room. I open the door, expecting nothing but 70 degrees of cool air, and instead, get an unexpected slap in the face with the putrid smell of cheap cigar. The smoker, who either couldn't read the no smoking sign on the door or chose not to, was a short stubby man in his mid 50's. His cigar, the exact opposite, is long and lean, the burnt tip hanging on for dear life. Holding my breath, I rush over to my box, and rip the mail out as quickly as possible. The sooner I get out of this gas chamber, the better.
"What's this?"
I turn and look at the man holding up a key attached to a laminated card.
"It's to open the bigger mail boxes." I breathe out, not wanting to lose any of my air.
"Huh?"
"Just look at what letter is on the card, then open the corresponding mailbox."
My air supply is almost used up, and I'm still a few feet away from the door.
"It's got a 'B' on it..."
"Then it opens up the box marked 'B'."
I can feel my eyes burning, as I head to the door. My lungs finally exhausted of all air, I walk with determination, trying not to offend the smoker by running, but not wanting to breathe in the smoke any longer.
FINALLY!
The hot 110 degree Las Vegas sun is a welcomed freedom from the gas chamber I just escaped. Peering once more into the open doorway that I just walked through, I notice the man trying to put the key in the wrong lock.
"It goes in the silver one."
"Thank yo-"
His words and smoke are cut off as I shut the door.
Gas Chamber by Amanda Jones is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
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