An Open Letter to my Office Building

Dear Building,

Let's start out by looking at first things first: building, you are so big, and we are all pretty impressed down here, let me tell you (with an homage to Monty Python). And your reflecty windows whereby we may assess our own personal situations as we walk by are simply aces. ACES!

But (with an homage to Arlo Guthrie) what I really want to talk to you about today is the draft. Specifically, I do not understand how it can possibly be as cold as it is where I sit. If I had a lightsaber (with an homage to Star Wars), I would seriously consider slicing into one of the large, furry creatures (read: coworkers) that parades by my desk all day long and nesting all up in its entrails for warmth.*

It has been explained to me that to keep the floor I am on a consistant temperature, some vents need to blow warmer air and some need to blow cooler air. All I want to know is, how did I manage to draw the short straw?

In short, I would be forever grateful if the temperature could be turned up a few degrees. I realize that maintenance has looked at our floor in an effort to figure it out, but they have apparently failed. I therefore throw myself at your fictitious feet and beg for mercy from the climate of the frozen tundra I must work in every day.

Your chilly pal,
AC

*Fortunately for them, lightsabers are fictional inventions, and thus, they will forever be safe. For now.