Hey,
Guess I’ve got a story to tell this week. Anyway, here goes.
‘Tssssss.’ The coach’s brakes released and it rolled away from the hotel. The patch of shade it generated went with it, and pretty quickly I was stood in the mid afternoon glare. I put on my sunglasses and watched the coach disappear down the long straight road, breaking the mirages as it went.
‘That never gets any easier’, I whispered under my breath.
I made my way through to the hotel bar.
‘Get me something strong.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘We just lost another one.’
Like a stand-up paddleboard dashed against the rocks, the barman’s smile popped instantly. He knew just how damn much this team meant to me. Guests were whispering but to hell with them. He served me something clear. I didn’t give a flying flip what was in that glass but by God I drank it.
I walked through to the staff area. Memories of packed team meetings and laughter-filled lunch breaks flashed before my eyes. But that was all in my head. All that was there right now were a few wetsuits, some rucksacks and the remnants of one or two packed lunches. I picked through the detritus. Orange peel. Paper bags from the bakery. A warm and now inedible pot of hummus. But what’s this? A sticky uno card from an after-work game. I held it for a second and chuckled at a distant memory.
That was last week. For the past fortnight, we’ve been losing staff members like a stand-up paddleboard with a faulty valve loses air: slowly, but consistently. The reason? Visa trips. Oh Brexit…
This morning, it was my roommate Chris who packed up and left. He stood there with his bags and looked at me.
‘Guess it’s my time, buddy’ he said.
I sighed.
‘Too right, champ’.
He gave me a hug. It was a hug that said, ‘this hurts but lets put brave faces on, yeah?’ This moment was like an over-inflated stand-up paddleboard: hard.
Minutes later the door closed and I was alone.
‘Guess it’s just me and the mosquitoes in here now,’ I thought, as I looked at Chris’s meticulously folded bedclothes. Six staff members back in the UK. Some getting visas, some not. What did it all mean? Hell if I knew.
I drifted towards town like a stand-up paddleboard caught in a strong breeze.
‘To hell with all this, I’m going windsurfing’, I thought.
Look, guys, staff members are dropping like flies out here. Loads of people are reaching the end of their 90 days tourist visa, and now they’re going back, either to get a visa or do something else for the rest of the summer. It’s a heck of a shame. Plz cheer me up with some tales from your week.
Peace,
James
