After visiting the Ritz, I was running late for work at the Lightbox so I cut through parking lots and looked up to the Festival Tower. There were fireworks going off, drifting in the breeze. Business as usual.
I approached the main entrance which resembled Scotia Plaza, open to the sky and the tower above. I crossed King Street from the south and wandered up to the door, passing beneath the misting water fountains that sprayed onto all from above the piazza.
Inside, all floors were covered in red carpet and the walls were lined with lockers. It was obvious my place of part-time employment offered a variety of workouts.
I got to my locker and realized I had forgotten proper exercise clothes, so I decided to wear my uniform instead. It would be a bit tight, the boots were no doubt too heavy, but I could still swim.
I cast off into the main pool at the Lightbox Lobby. It was olympic size, blue with red carpet accents. As I started to enjoy the steam of other patrons, I knocked a red tea set complete with pot, cups and plates into the pool and it smashed the lining down below.
Others around took notice and I felt shame. I had made a mistake and was paralyzed with embarrassment.
Cheryl, a manager, came up to me with her silver hair and gave me her hand. Her finger nails were manicured to perfection, long and painted bright red. "It's okay Jordan, but you're going to have to clean up this mess." Together we dove to the bottom of the pool and began the repairs.
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