The Wild Indoors

Remember how, in the olden days, hardy, weather-bitten explorers would brave the arctic cold to go hunting for food? How they would wander all day in frozen and inhospitable landscapes, returning home at sunset with their fingers numb and their bones chilled to the marrow, only to sink gratefully into the comfort and warmth of their roaring hearths?

Okay, so I don't remember them either, but I know exactly how they must have felt. Not that it's cold outside. On the contrary, it's a glorious Fall day - the sun is shining, the temperature's a breezy 70 degrees (21 C), everwhere people are walking around in their shirtsleeves, smiles on their faces.

That's outside. Inside, in my windowless cubicle, Winter rages unabated - freezing winds blow in every direction, I sit huddle up in my jacket, blowing on my hands every now and then to keep from losing fingers to frostbite. At any moment I expect little flakes of snow to come drifting down on all my files. I'm considering burning some of my case mat to start a bonfire, if only I could get my hands to stop shivering long enough to light a match. Climate control has struck again.

Don't get me wrong. In general I'm quite grateful for temperature control. I'd just have been a little happier about it if they'd actually designed the system in my building for human beings, rather than simply ripping off the cooling system of the penguin enclosure from the Philadelphia Zoo. When you get to the point where the minute you exit a building you breathe a sigh of relief and take off your gloves, there's surely something wrong.

At this point, one of you jobless wags is going to point out that if it's really that cold in my office then I should be out in the afternoon sun instead of typing this stupid post. Well, let me tell you...hmmm...ummm...you may have a point there. Aargghh! I'm out of here.