It appears a war has been started.

Sure, it may have been done unintentionally, but it’s war nonetheless. And as William Tecumseh Sherman said, “War is Hell.”

I can personally attest to just how right he was.

No, I haven’t had any casualties (yet), but I can feel the heat from the flames of Hell where I sit.

Same Fight, Different Battlefield

It’s not like I’ve never had battles like this before, but most of my skirmishes have been with at home with my wife.

But now it’s happening at work, which requires a much different strategy that the ones I use with Tammy.

I have to be more tactful, more resourceful, more aware of what I say and how it will come off to others.

As much I want to launch an all-out attack, I know I have to fly under the radar and use stealthier maneuvers in order to achieve the results I seek.

I know who I’m up against so know it won’t be easy, but the actions taken earlier today can’t be allowed to go by unnoticed.

I wish I could level sanctions against the offenders, but I’m afraid I’d be the one to cave before they would. So I must do what I have to do to make things right.

If I don’t make it back, I love you all and don’t let Tammy run my fantasy football teams.

Keeps the Hot Side Hot and the Cool Side Cool

Earlier today, someone I’ll call, Shawn, who sits in the section of cubes next to me (four cubicles that make up one pod), was cold, which is no surprise as he often complains about being chilly.

Normally he puts on a wind jacket and wears that around the office in order to stay warm.

I guess Shawn is what you’d call cold-natured or the absolute opposite of me, who can sweat standing still.

I have a fan constantly blowing on me whether it’s January or June, because if air isn’t moving around me I get hot which means I get sticky. I don’t like being sticky.

Well because Shawn was cold he decided to start tinkering with the vents above his cube. I didn’t think much about it because I thought I’d be fine as long as he didn’t mess with the vent over my area.

I was wrong.

And now I’m sticky. I don’t like being sticky.

The Cold War on the Home-front

Yes, I know it’s the middle of October and the days are getting cooler out.

But that’s OUTSIDE. Not at my desk.

Also, in case you forgot, I need air moving around me.

There are times in the dead of winter that I sit on the couch in shorts and a sleeveless shirt with either a fan blowing directly on me or the window behind me cracked so I can feel cool air.

All of this while my wife is in a flannel pants, a sweatshirt, sitting on one blanket with another wrapped around her.

My most common response to her complaints about being cold is that she can always put on more clothes but I can only take off so many.

Being that I’m at work, I’m pretty much stuck wearing what I showed up in and don’t have the luxury of stripping down to “something more comfortable.”

It’s… Not… Moving…

Apparently whatever Shawn did today not only stopped the air from moving in his area but it stopped it from moving in mine as well.

I had moved my fan so it was facing the opposite direction in case that was what was causing Shawn’s cube-mate, Harrah, to also be cold. This meant the air was no longer blowing directly on me, which I was OK with because I could tell, and feel, the air moving in my pod.

Within minutes after Shawn’s sabotaging of the vents I began feeling a strange sensation on my arm.

It was a feeling I’d felt before, but it was back in the dog days of summer when the building’s air conditioners were being replaced.

Those two days were so bad that I didn’t think I was going to make it. I somehow found the strength to pull through and hoped I’d never have to feel that way again.

But today that feeling was back, but this time it was the result of one man, the Saboteur.

Today my arm was sticking to my desk and I don’t like being sticky.

Fan Don’t Fail Me Now

At first I didn’t think much about it and kept on about my work.

Me: I’ll just turn the fan back on me and all will be well again.

I figured that eventually my desk would relinquish its gummy grip on my arm. But I knew something wasn’t right when I came back to my desk after picking up something off the printer.

It was too quiet.

Sure, I could hear the buzz of air that my fan was creating, but gone was the sweet, gentle sound of air escaping from the ceiling vent in my pod.

Thinking that couldn’t be right I went back toward the printer to see if air was coming out of other vents.

It was.

I went to another section of the office to see if air was coming out of those vents.

It was.

I went back to see if it was coming out of the one in my area.

It wasn’t.

That’s when I knew something had to be done and started plotting my strategy.

Diplomacy is to do and say the nastiest things in the nicest way.
– Isaac Goldberg

Diplomatic Damage

I racked my brain with how to best handle this situation.

Maybe a little trip into the swampy enemy territory waving a white flag to display my diplomatic skills would do the trick.

Maybe, but what fun would that be?

Instead I waited for Shawn and Harrah to leave for the day, jumped up on one of the desks, opened the vents back up and covered the ones over their pod with tape.

I’ll deal with the collateral damage tomorrow.