My office is freezing. At this very moment I am wearing a sweater and a shawl, so I'm feeling alright, but my fingers are like icicles. If you wear sandals or a skirt or, god forbid, sandals and a skirt, you will be risking frostbite.
The reason for this frigid state of affairs is, I'm told, that men in suits prefer the temperature to hover somewhere between freezing and ass-bitingly cold. Certain men can't take their suit jackets off, so everyone else in the building should pile sweaters on. This seemed to me like a subtle and particularly sick form of sexism until my boss reminded me that I too could wear a suit to the office. "But Gary," I said, "we work in publishing." Not even my boss's boss's boss wears a suit. So I said that I would start wearing a suit when he did, and that in the meantime they could turn the goddamn air conditioning down. He laughed.
(When I write my memoir, it will be full of mundane little anecdotes just like that one. Forget stories about people who take amphetamines and believe that the key to time travel is to stand in the basement and repeat the matra, "I am willing, sir." Forget stories about being a high-priced call girl in London. My memoir will be about how cold my office is, and what books I read in college. No one will ever doubt that it's true, and no one will buy it. But I'll feel better.)
In other news: the fact that Ezra Klein is 24 years old is still really freaking me out. Someone my age, someone who drinks Miller Light, is paid by the American Prospect to write about politics. He's actually good at it, too. I am clearly a failure.
The reason for this frigid state of affairs is, I'm told, that men in suits prefer the temperature to hover somewhere between freezing and ass-bitingly cold. Certain men can't take their suit jackets off, so everyone else in the building should pile sweaters on. This seemed to me like a subtle and particularly sick form of sexism until my boss reminded me that I too could wear a suit to the office. "But Gary," I said, "we work in publishing." Not even my boss's boss's boss wears a suit. So I said that I would start wearing a suit when he did, and that in the meantime they could turn the goddamn air conditioning down. He laughed.
(When I write my memoir, it will be full of mundane little anecdotes just like that one. Forget stories about people who take amphetamines and believe that the key to time travel is to stand in the basement and repeat the matra, "I am willing, sir." Forget stories about being a high-priced call girl in London. My memoir will be about how cold my office is, and what books I read in college. No one will ever doubt that it's true, and no one will buy it. But I'll feel better.)
In other news: the fact that Ezra Klein is 24 years old is still really freaking me out. Someone my age, someone who drinks Miller Light, is paid by the American Prospect to write about politics. He's actually good at it, too. I am clearly a failure.
4 comments:
This does not, however, explain why department stores and shopping malls are always freezing in summer. Explain that, Ms. Know-it-all-pants.
I, Ms. Know-It-All-Pants, is stumped by your provocative and insightful question, Ms. Self-Important.
Maybe, since Americans are pretty fat, they get overheated quickly and therefore demand more air conditioning?
I is not sure, but I is not satisfied by this response. I is also interested to know why it is that children have more tolerance for extremely sweet and sour tastes than adults, and are more sensitive to bitterness. Can Ms. Know-It-All-Pants answer that?
I is not wikipedia.
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