It’s hot. Wicked hot.
Why is it so fucking hot in November?! It has got to be at least 205 degrees in the office right now. My deodorant is melting into my armpit pubes and the cloth paperboy cap upon my head is a sponge of salty middle-aged man skull sweat. It’s 3pm and it feels like I’ve been shoved into a crematory for a molten lava shower. My desk faces west… where the sun is presently hanging in the sky, mocking me, flipping me off, laughing at my inability to do anything about him.
Plus, the office heater is also on full blast.
Back in 1977, the building I’m in installed blinds. They’re the same blinds that have made it through countless abusive representatives of the company; opening them in the morning, closing them in the eve; everyday of every week. The strings FINALLY gave out and they would roll up no longer. Three weeks ago we placed a work order to the building management team. A week later they took the blinds from the window and were left with the peeping-fucking-Tom sun.
Praise the gods that my co-workers enjoy Trader Joe’s so much… ah, yes. Temporary reprieve that would make the most homeless of homeless people impressed with my skills.
It is now a mere 95 degrees. My palms are still sliding effortlessly across the keyboard as I type this; mainly because of the sheen of silky perspiration glazed across my palms.
JadedFish; the blog 