67 lines
2.5 KiB
Plaintext
67 lines
2.5 KiB
Plaintext
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AIR CONDITIONING
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My telephone receiver slams down on its cradle. I'm
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upset. I am soaked to the skin, sweat runs from my brow.
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The air conditioner that I so naively entrusted to the
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Yellow Pages Repair shop is delayed another two weeks.
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I could have it back tomorrow, I was told, if I happen
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to have a compressor relief control valve sensor assembly,
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part number 3B25189927.4A, in my pocket. The repairman is
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a funny fellow.
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Very funny.
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"Its a bit stuffy in here," my secretary says, in an
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attempt to explain her entering my office. This is
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obvious of course as nary a breeze wafts through the
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three-foot square hole in my wall that appeared in
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synchronization with the air conditioner's disappearance.
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She goes to the thermostat, checks the temperature, and
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adjusts its setting for the fourth time this morning.
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Shaking my head in frustration, I again try to decipher
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the overdue report that is now blurred into illegibility
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by my
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sweat.
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An excellent typist, she's the best secretary I've
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ever had. Completely fulfilling her secretarial duties,
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she otherwise keeps to herself. Although I am by nature a
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curious man, personal matters between us have never been
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discussed. However, with the increase in temperature, her
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attire has of late become remarkable as to its increasing
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skimpiness.
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As to the hole in my wall, I have attempted to fill it
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with wadded papers and rags and such. This has proven
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ineffective, no thanks to the active flocks of nesting
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pigeons in the neighborhood.
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Last spring I reeceived a bill from the local office
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supply. It was rather badly smeared, but I did notice
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something about furniture. A bill from the local office
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supply shop recently gave me a clue about my secretary's
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personal life.
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Her more recent change to now quite revealing attire
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confirms my suspicions.
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She obviously spends every non-working hour in
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thorough personal exploration of all things culinary.
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In desperation, I reach for the phone.
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