Foosball

From June, I think, but I forgot to post it.  

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I arrived to the park on my bike, as usual, in the late morning.  I usually arrive at that time because I take my time eating breakfast and drinking coffee in the morning, and I like to turn up before it gets too hot.  We are in the rainy season now, though, so we have a constant low, dark cloud cover throughout the day with intermittent sun (like San Diego’s “June Gloom”).  It is cool.  I still go to work in the late morning, though, merely out of habit.

When I showed up, I saw Arimi, Denis, and another man huddled around a foosball table.  It was brand new, with the plastic still on and around it, and was still sitting on top of the cardboard box that it was delivered on.  I parked my bike and walked around to where it was situated, across a corner of the concrete slab by the office but still under the overhang.

“Good Morning,” I said.

“Good Morning,” replied Arimi.

“When did we get this?”

“This morning.  The mayor paid for it.”

“Oh, that was nice of him.”

“No.  He is not nice.”

I thought of all the things the mayor could have paid for, such as higher wages for the employees or to print marketing materials.  A foosball table was unnecessary, especially considering that we all had to come to the park early a few weeks ago—Théo, Arimi, Denis, Elie, and I—to clear out weeds because the mayor had not paid the groundskeeper in the past eighteen months—eighteen months!

As they fidgeted with the screwdrivers and wrenches and assorted metal and plastic parts strewn about the table, I started to look for the instructions.  They all looked clueless, so I thought maybe the instructions were in English.  But had there been directions only in English, they would have asked me to help (I hope).

I looked at the dark clouds hanging low, directly over us, and asked what they would do with the table if it rains.  The table looks too wide to fit through the door of the office, and if left outside it would just be ruined, like everything else.

“We will take it inside.”

“Where are the instructions?”

“We don’t have any.  You see, the mayor is not nice.”

Arimi and Denis moved the table to the side of the building, flush up against the wall so it was not visible from the street, and if it rains it would be unlikely to get too wet.  The group walked inside and Arimi and Denis laid down on the benches inside the office which line two of the walls.  Time for a break.  They would finish up with the table later, but for now, the mayor is not so nice.