Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Thermostats
I have yet to work in an office building that got the temperatures right. In the Summer, some offices are so cold, people cover up the vents (until building services come along and uncover them). At the job I had during the Summer of 2005, building services insisted that all window blinds be drawn as these were “a part of the integrated “ blah blah blah.
Where I am now is rather like just about every other office building (and my apartment). When the weather is cold, they crank the heating up so high, that you either open up a window or, if you are in the more modern buildings where windows are ornamental rather than functional, you strip down to a level that retains your decency and doesn’t fall foul of company dress code policies and then spend the afternoons fighting to retain consciousness. But on days like last Monday, when the temperature hit 63 degrees Fahrenheit, off goes the heat and everyone is too cold.
Nowhere here is as ridiculous as where I worked in New Orleans in the Summer of 1985. The AC was up so high that I needed to wear a sweater in the afternoons. Meanwhile, outside it was in the mid 90’s in both temperature and humidity. What I call my most futile lunch break ever, was the day after I had taken home my sweater (the only one I had unpacked) to wash it and forgotten to bring it back. I followed my normal morning ritual: a slow walk through the French Quarter wearing a T-shirt; closing my office door; taking off the T-shirt I walked in wearing and using it as a towel, then putting on my business shirt. That lunch break consisted of ambling home in as leisurely a manner as I could; grabbing my sweater and some food, then ambling back. For all my dawdling, I nevertheless arrived in my office entirely drenched with sweat; my clothes sticking to my skin. Within half an hour, I was dry, shivering and reaching for my sweater.
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Where I am now is rather like just about every other office building (and my apartment). When the weather is cold, they crank the heating up so high, that you either open up a window or, if you are in the more modern buildings where windows are ornamental rather than functional, you strip down to a level that retains your decency and doesn’t fall foul of company dress code policies and then spend the afternoons fighting to retain consciousness. But on days like last Monday, when the temperature hit 63 degrees Fahrenheit, off goes the heat and everyone is too cold.
Nowhere here is as ridiculous as where I worked in New Orleans in the Summer of 1985. The AC was up so high that I needed to wear a sweater in the afternoons. Meanwhile, outside it was in the mid 90’s in both temperature and humidity. What I call my most futile lunch break ever, was the day after I had taken home my sweater (the only one I had unpacked) to wash it and forgotten to bring it back. I followed my normal morning ritual: a slow walk through the French Quarter wearing a T-shirt; closing my office door; taking off the T-shirt I walked in wearing and using it as a towel, then putting on my business shirt. That lunch break consisted of ambling home in as leisurely a manner as I could; grabbing my sweater and some food, then ambling back. For all my dawdling, I nevertheless arrived in my office entirely drenched with sweat; my clothes sticking to my skin. Within half an hour, I was dry, shivering and reaching for my sweater.
