Guy was shining the floor of the squash courts with the buffer. Players expected a highly polished sheen for their arenas. He enjoyed his present pursuit, his employers left him to his own devices, knowing he would do the job in hand exceedingly well as he could be trusted to get the job done. A major plus for Guy, as this gave him ample opportunity to pursue personal reveries whilst working. He was quite adept at multi-tasking and talking to people or just going into his own head did not stop him from working.
Guy would glance at the squash games from time to time, but generally they were in the periphery of his vision, as his own thoughts could occupy him for ages. After all, if you have seen one squash game then you have seen them all. Today was different though. Two regulars he recognised seemed as if they were having a somewhat strained game. One of them he recognised as a doctor, who seemed tense this Saturday and the “fuck” that he uttered under his breath, yet was loud enough that it was heard a few feet away, was what had made Guy take notice in the first place. The doctor’s opponent was somebody he worked with at the hospital, an anaesthetist he thought, although Guy had only seen him two or three times. He was tall at about six-foot four but as with most large people was incredibly friendly and mellow. The term gentle giant fitted him nicely. The doctor was standing critically, quite incensed at losing the last point, which to Guy he had, but he was insisting on a let. His opponent was standing back on the court looking rather relaxed, with a resigned look on his face that spoke volumes. He really did not want to argue over a let, or lost point, in what really ought to be a friendly game. The doctor strode purposefully to the service area, bounced on the balls of his feet like a wrestler doing ballet, so that it was obvious that he was anything but relaxed. Continuing in this strained stance, his opponent strode towards the receiving area with a look on his face that shouted that he knew he had won the point, but saw no reason arguing about it.
Guy read all this from their body language alone, there being no words, just one being the original “fuck”. The times before when Guy had seen this they pair had excellent squash rallies, bordering on looking like competition games which would see them leaving the premises in superb spirits usually, but Guy could not help wondering if this one would end up with a falling out, perhaps even a fight. As the doctor served, Guy saw that pair of them had become so absorbed, that this point went on for at least several minutes; a long time for such a hard and physical game such as squash. Mental! Volleying a squash ball back and forth in this fashion would probably be akin to running up a mountain just for the hell of it. They were apt to have a heart attack at this rate and they were doing this for fun?