...for griping that my office gets too hot in the summer.
My little outpost of the Great Corporate Salt Mine sits on the twelfth floor of an office building on the northwest edge of Atlanta. My office faces west - as I look out my window, I see the offices of The Weather Channel just across the street, and farther out, the interchange where I-75 and I-285 meet. I get the afternoon sun, and plenty of it, so I keep the window shades closed as best I can.
Even with the shades down, most days in the spring, summer, and fall, it gets warm in here. Too warm. I measured it at 86°F last summer, a temperature that’s not exactly conducive to mental alertness. But, until recently, all of my whiny-ass griping and carping were to no avail.
Ahh, but now. Now, they have - after a mere six frickin’ years - fixed the A/C in my office.
And now it’s as cold as the proverbial Witch’s Tit. Serves me right for complaining, innit?
I’m wearing a leather jacket, and I’m still shivering. Crap. I wonder if anyone will complain if I burn some of my old files to warm this place up?
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