If I get asked this question by one more person, I am going to have to staple my head to the floor. Itís 100 degrees (thatís 37 degrees cellulite) outside, so of course every person who walks into the office must comment on the heat. Look, I know itís hot, you know itís hot, it sucks, I know this since I drive an un-air-conditioned Dodge, stuck in rush hour traffic listening to various DJs telling me that it's hot and the traffic report telling me the roads are jammed. Believe me, I know.
Hot enough for me? Hmmm, let me think. I'm permanently sweating, testing the limits of my platinum protection Secret deodorant (in the new optimistic scent), I feel like I'm being slow-cooked. Yep. I think it's hot enough for me.
Hey, at least itís a dry heat.
This comment isnít as common here as when I lived in Arizona for obvious reasons, but itís no less annoying. You like it so much, go and live in a volcano then, you big freak, Iím quite sure thatís a pretty dry heat.
Now this week the building is under some sort of indescribable construction project that has caused a loss of air-conditioning. The windows and doors are opened, which is somehow supposed to keep things cool, which is really quite an interesting theory since it's completely sweltering out, thereís no breeze, and the humidity is around 100%.
My shirt is stuck to me, my skirt is stuck to me, my hair is matted to my head, and the phone is stuck to me, specifically, my face. Insects have taken advantage of the open doors and windows, and fly lazily all over the office, until the heat even gets to them, and they collapse and get stuck to me.
Yesterday I could take no more, I broke down and bought a floor fan at K-Mart. Everyone watched as I struggled to move it through the office, no one even bothering to offer to help me. Iím delicate and fragile, dammit! Fine, fine, watch.
After about five minutes of strenuous and awkward struggling, I get to my cubicle, completely burning up now from the effort, and try to find somewhere to plug it in. The only available outlet is way under my desk, requiring me to get down on my hands and knees, and due to the too short electrical cord, I wind up having to stretch it more or less in front of my doorway.
I smile to myself when I realize that anyone entering the room will trip over the cord. Ha, ha, serves you right for making me sweat and not helping me carry the fan. My smirk slowly vanishes when I realize that, let's face it, the person most likely to trip over it will be me as I'm complete and total klutz.
I notice at this point that I've gotten some sort of sticky and goopy residue on my skirt, some industrial adhesive or compound from the fan. I struggle with my skirt for a while but give up and pretend it doesn't bother me. Hell, I got lots more skirts at home!
Fan powered up. Yes. Great. I slowly sit down at the desk amid a storm of papers and flying post-its, a frozen smile on my face. Yes, this is just what I wanted. Nice and cool now! No problem! Now this is what I was hoping for! I can get back to finishing up that FreeCell game without sticking to the mouse!
Now people stick there heads in my office and say, ďCool enough for you in here?Ē
Any one who feels in absolutely necessary to make a comment about the hot weather should be required to pull weeds from cracks the middle of I-70 during rush hour while wearing bulky down-filled winter coats, snow pants, and wool hats with ear flaps, blindfolded, and forced to drink Tabasco sauce. Through their nose.
2002-07-23 at 9:19 a.m.