Tuesday, August 10th

Office:

AM - Normal Morning except all three men clients... heavy sweating.

PM - Rudeness! A lot of sweating! What's wrong with these men? 

Shay Luv glanced at her "Next!" notebook, the fresh pages crisp under her black felt-tip pen. The heading was neatly underlined: July 4th, Year 28, Next! - Vol. 1. Only thirty-seven pages in, and this year was already out of control... driving her abstract thinking mind crazy!

The past two weeks have been... undeniably miserable. Why won't it calm down? Why can't I relax and sleep? Oh, what I would give for six hours' straight sleep! My mind is in overdrive. I need to park it.

Well, since my 28th birthday this past July 4th, things were pretty calm. I know it's hot outside, but what's up with so many men sweating like pigs?

It's not just the clients that come here. It's men at the grocery store, gas station, and when I had new tires put on my car last night, the men were sweating so bad, they looked like they just finished running a 3-mile marathon! I've seen this before. What is going on in this world? Please, somebody tell me. I need to sleep!

It was 1:50 pm, and Dr. Cella Broke's office was unusually tense. Max Taxes, slouched in the far corner of the waiting room, and kept looking at his cell phone every few seconds, but touching nothing.

Beads of sweat on his forehead, sliding down his face to his hairline where it was wet, like coming out of a shower, poor man.

Shay noted… "Max Taxes - Arrived early. Sweating. Distracted. Keeps checking his cell phone. Stressed. What's on his mind?"

She flipped back a page. James Madson's notes stood out… "James Madson - Arrived early. Heavy sweating. Pacing. Angry... What's his excuse?"

She underlined the word "sweating" and added a question mark in the margin. Maybe something is in the air! It's not the summer heat, but something about today is just wrong! Really wrong! Why am I not sweating? Why? What's wrong with the men around me?

Dr. Broke's office door opened, and James stormed out. His face flushed, and sweat soaked his hair and shirt. Max Taxes sprang from his chair like it had caught fire.

"Excuse me…" Shay began, but Max didn't stop. He flung the door open and stepped inside Dr. Broke's office, pushing it shut behind him.

"Rude," she wrote quickly under Max's name, adding: "Slammed the door."

Shay texted Dr. Broke... "Need help? Security? Y N"

Dr. Broke texted back... "N"

Twenty minutes later... Dr. Broke's door opened. James paused and quickly crossed the waiting room, mumbling "Damn" before he stormed out of the office.

Shay noted in her notebook... "What's wrong with these men?" she thought, staring at the empty waiting room.

The phone rang. "Dr. Broke's office, Shay speaking."

"Shay, we need to talk," said Alena Passion, Shay's closest friend.

"Alena, it's a little crazy here at the office today. I will have to call you back."

"Shay, it's urgent. Something is wrong with my Uncle Ted."

"Let me guess, he's sweating like crazy?"

"Yes! Shay, Aunt Mary had to rush him to the hospital. His breathing was so labored. I just got off the phone with her."

"Alena, let me know if he gets worse. I'm so sorry. I have to go," said Shay.

"What is going on? I saw Uncle Ted three weeks ago," thought Shay, as she opened her notebook and noted... "Alena called... Aunt Mary put Uncle Ted, Hospital today, Aug. 10th. Sweating heavy, labored breathing."

Shay had other notes to make... "James Madson - Angry. Sweating. Pacing. Rude." and noted... "Max Taxes - Rude! Sweating. Distracted!"

Shay looked over her notes. "Two men. Two completely different attitudes. But one common thing...Sweat! Coincidence? Or something deeper? Something is wrong with... MEN!"

Shay underlined the word "sweat" in her notebook and added a note beneath it... "Possible connection?"

She flipped the page, writing at the top: "Tuesday, August 10th: Sweat and Rudeness! Welcome to the Twilight Zone!"

Shay glanced at her "Next!" notebook and smiled. This notebook is more valuable than a cell phone, tablet, or computer... a ritual companion that never judges, only records thoughts, events, problems, joys, and everything in between... even sweating men!

But, most importantly, what she wanted to record was in her control, and it has helped and saved her many times during her life. Alena has a notebook. They both started their first "Next!" notebook on their 10th birthday.

Some days, her notebook was her real boss. It was only a month old, and already, it had become a diary of bizarre patterns, strange encounters, and the occasional outburst.

Myra Klean walked through the door, holding a thick envelope in one hand and a small box balanced on top of a digital delivery device in the other.

"Hi, Myra," said Shay, glancing up briefly from her notebook. "What's in the mystery box today?"

"Something heavy enough to crush my wrist," said Myra, setting the items carefully on Shay's desk.

"Hey, have you noticed men sweating lately? I mean, more than usual."

"You're asking the right person. I've got a front-row seat to it every day. Restaurants, offices, garages… most of the men I deliver to look like they've just sprinted three miles. Last week, the manager at the grocery store on Main Street one mile from here was practically dripping."

Shay noted… "Myra Klean - Deliveries - men sweating excessively - restaurants, offices, garages."

Dr. Broke's office door opened, Max Taxes burst out, his shirt damp with sweat and his breathing uneven. Shay glanced at her cell. He's leaving twenty minutes early. What's up?

"Max?" said Shay.

Max didn't respond. He walked straight out of the waiting room in a hurry, letting the door close heavy behind him.

"Charming," said Myra, setting her delivery device down on the desk carefully.

Dr. Broke appeared in the doorway. "Afternoon, Myra. How's your day so far?"

"Same as always, except for all the sweaty men," said Myra.

"I've been seeing the same thing with our male clients. And I know it's not the office temperature; it's cool in here," said Dr. Broke.

"It's not just here. It's grocery stores, gas stations, restaurants… It's everywhere," said Shay.

"Not a single woman, though," said Myra.

"Seventy percent of my clients are men, but none of my female patients are showing these symptoms. I noticed it about two weeks ago," said Dr. Broke.

"That sounds about right," said Myra."

Shay quickly noted… "Timeline: Two weeks. Men only. No women."

The three women fell silent, the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air.

"Well, if you figure it out, let me know," said Myra, picking up her delivery device.

"You'll be the first to know," said Shay.

"Thanks, Shay. Talk to you later," said Myra on her wait out of the office.

The outer door opened again. Chase Monie walked in, his collar wet and sticking to his neck.

"Mr. Monie," said Shay, gesturing toward the chairs. "Dr. Broke will see you shortly."

Chase hesitated for a moment, then placed his briefcase on the floor beside the nearest chair but didn't sit. He wiped his forehead with a tissue and glanced around the room as if waiting for something else to happen.

Shay opened her notebook to a fresh page and began writing... "Chase Monie - Arrived on time. Heavy sweating. Standing. Nervous."

Shay walked to Dr. Broke's office, tapping lightly on the frame before stepping inside.

"Chase Monie's here," said Shay.

"And sweating, I assume?"

"Like the others," said Shay.

Dr. Broke put a new box of Kleenex on the desk corner.

"Interesting. I'll see if he has anything to share," said Dr. Broke. "Let him in."

Shay returned to the waiting room, where Chase stood staring out the window.

"Mr. Monie, Dr. Broke will see you now," said Shay.

Chase picked up his briefcase and walked toward the office door, heavy sweat running down his face.

At her desk, Shay flipped her notebook back open. She stared at the day's notes.

Shay noted… "Tuesday, August 10th, 3 pm. Sweat and Nerves."

Her felt pen tapped against the desk as her mind pieced together the fragments of this strange day. Something was happening, and it was only getting stranger.

The door opened again. Shay looked up, expecting another client or delivery, but a man she didn't recognize stumbled inside. His face was flushed, his shirt sticking to his chest like he'd just walked through a rainstorm.

"Excuse me," he said, leaning heavily against a chair near the door. "Do you… have water?"

"Uh, sure. One second."

She quickly grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge. The man practically snatched it from her hand, twisted the cap off and after a couple of long gulps, he was bending at the knees.

"Why don't you sit down for a minute?" said Shay, gesturing the chair he was leaning on. "Catch your breath."

Sinking into the chair, he wiped his forehead with a tissue; the sweat running down the side of his face.

"Have you seen a doctor?" asked Shay.

He shook his head, took another long drink. "No. I thought it would go away, but now… it's everywhere."

"Do you know anyone else dealing with this?"

The man hesitated... "My coworkers, maybe? But I didn't ask."

Shay quickly noted in her notebook… "Potential workplace connection? Heat? Shared exposure?"

The man stood up abruptly, one last gulp, crinkled the plastic bottle, and handed it to her. "Sorry, I've got to go. Thanks for the water."

He turned around and walked out the door, and just as it shut behind him, it reopened. A second man walked in.

"What the hell? Am I in the Twilight Zone?" thought Shay. "If I am, it's time to…"