Thursday, November 26th, 2020

Someone whistles a Sousa march as we wait for the afternoon prayers. I don’t know which one it is. I can’t remember their names. I know that the Monty Python theme is the Liberty Bell March, since I heard a band play it when I saw Yitzhak Rabin across from Independence Hall. My father used to sing the one I'm hearing now as “Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends.” I think my mother's orchestra has played it. My socks are slipping on the hallway’s tile floor. I have to walk carefully. I have left my shoes at my desk. They are still soggy after the morning’s rain. So are my jeans. I wore my rain jacket today, but it only keeps me dry down to my waist. The street where I pick up my packages had flooded, higher than the curbs. The only way ahead was to walk through it. It’s been a morning of frantic video editing. The boss looks at what I’ve done and makes some requests. Some I’m able to do easily. Some I have already done, but a little later in the video. When he gives the presentation in the afternoon, it all works out. Afterward, he tells me “Your work today gets not just a ten, but a ten of tens.” I’m pleased. More people come together in the hallway. A woman walks through with a lace facemask. It’s lovely, but utterly useless. A dozen men finally show up for the prayers. We seem louder than usual. The hard surfaces amplify the sound. We often open some of the windows over the atrium for ventilation, but we don’t want it to rain in. The floor is slippery enough already. We snare my direct boss as he tries to leave early. He ends up leading the prayers, then, picking his umbrella and briefcase up off the floor, heads home.