The excavation continues. The Viking now refers to me as his dust bunny even though he hasn't seen me wearing the after effects of a cave episode.
However; other people have. On Wednesday, after a five hour shift in the dust palace, I decided to take a short break. I washed my face and hands and walked over to Church and Wellesley. The majority of the natty male people on the street looked askance at my dusty coat and jeans, while others made sure not to stare, lest I accost them for spare change. The proprietor of Baskin Robbins was pleased to serve me ice cream in a dish, and I watched other customers as I sat on a stool and consumed my treat. I noticed that there is a cool way to order ice cream and a non-cool way. You order your scoop of ice cream in a cup, not a cone, and don't refer to it as a dish. That tip is free - you too, can be cool, or bad, or, whatever the saying is today.
When I returned to the cave, it was time to take large garbage bags to the basement garage. The Bear's cave is on the top floor of a large old apartment building and the garbage chutes on each floor have an opening barely large enough for a pair of shoes to pass through, especially if said shoes are size 13. So, I took the elevator to the basement several times with large garbage bags, which I balanced on an old bundle buggy. On my second trip to the big bins, I encountered a garbage picker. He was going through a bag I had just thrown in. I'll admit, he was very polite and said he collected things for garage sales. It was tempting to invite him upstairs, but sanity prevailed and I didn't.
By Thursday evening I had 'had the biscuit' so, after sneaking back into my hotel and enjoying an extremely long hot shower, I treated myself to a salad, a club sandwich and a Rickart's Red in the hotel bar. The food was excellent and I watched some of the Masters Golf tournament while munching. The beer was also good, but, according to the bartender, next time, I should order a half-pint for a half-pint, because I couldn't finish my pint. Meanwhile, the two industrial salesmen at the table next to me both had three drinks, while talking on cell phones, talking to each other, and texting on their Blackberries. One thing is very clear, I do not have a future in sales.
The only other tip I can offer is of the Molly Maid type. I discovered that I could use the green stuff (it used to be called Dustbane and people used it on their garage floors ) and scatter it over places where the dust is the thickest, then very carefully sweep it into a pile. Dust still rose up to choke me, but it was not quite as deadly.
I'd better go and do my own cleaning because, I think I smell dust.