Absent Minded

After the market closes, and I’ve rolled down the vinyl flap covering the entrance to our shop, the rain really starts to come down in earnest. I can hear it pounding on the tin roof of the booth as I look over the shelves, counting pieces and tidying up. 

Finally, everything is in order for opening tomorrow, and I take a deep breath before turning out all the lights and ducking under the flap to lock up for the night, whereupon I am promptly soaked as I struggle beneath the deluge with zippers and padlocks and cold, wet keys. 

I finish, and stand up straight, triumphant, only to realize with a sinking feeling that I’ve left the heater on inside the booth, and that I’ll have to unlock and unzip everything and go back in to turn it off and do this all again before I can go home.