I drove along tree-lined roads that were absolutely ablaze with color. This is the fire that should be adorning trees this time of year. The entire warm side of the spectrum was represented in the trees this morning, from the yellow-greens of trees that won't quite give up on summer yet through the golds and oranges right down to reds so dark and deep they make you want to walk up to them and warm your hands against their ember glow.
Yup, I was waxing philosophic big-time on the drive in this morning, smug in the feeling that I was living in the moment, stopping to sniff the last roses of summer while all the other idiots in rush hour traffic wove their way in and out of lanes oblivious to anything that wasn't on pavement.
Then I arrived at work.
The heat pump that services the Mouth's, the Minion's and my offices is fried. Crisped. Finitoed. An ex-heat pump. Oh, the fan works fine. It worked fine all night, blowing cold air into the offices. Office temperature when the Minion arrived on the scene was 54º sullen Fahrenheit. Temperature when I reached the office an hour and a half later? A balmy 56º-Fahrenheit. (That's 12º C and 13º C for you in Fahrenheit-deprived nations).
I spent the first three-quarters of an hour on the phone at my desk while different people played "hot potato" with my little problem. Interesting phrase, that. "Playing hot potato" with someone whose fingers are literally blue from the cold doesn't make much sense.
Mr. Blue Hat finally showed up from maintenance and spent another three-quarters of an hour banging around on the outside wall of my office. He walked in twice to check on my thermostat. He looked happy on neither of his appearances. When he walked in a third time he was holding a little metal box with wires hanging out from all over it. Whatever it was (and formal introductions were never made) I have been informed that it's "fried". My initial reaction was to respond that "at least something is warm around here." It is never wise to get sarcastic with the guy who holds your BTU's in his hand. So I just nodded like I had a clue as to what he was talking about.
A clue to how cold it is in here - he left the panel open on the heat pump to try and warm our offices up a bit. He left promising to try and get a replacement, though he was somewhat vague as to which decade I could expect to see its installation occur in. I have a small space heater directly under my chair, so I can currently feel my arse-end, but the rest of me is developing a thin coating of rime, especially around the extremities.
I swear if I spend much more time in this office, I'm going to walk out of here freezer burned.
If you are a member of or sympathize with the NRA, ignore this next section. My intention is not to get into an argument about gun control, but just to pass on some gun control information I ran across this in the morning news.
Read this article: Stars promote NRA blacklist
Then go to this site:NRA Blacklist Sign-up