I was just flipping through my Rolodex (why yes, I AM a billion years old!), and came across a mysterious card. It was not written in my handwriting, nor the handwriting of anyone in the office. It was, however, unmistakably female handwriting, which makes me think one of the temps must have stuck it in there.**
Anyway, all that was written on the card were the words "Climate Control Chuck", followed by a local phone number.
Hmmmm. I could use ol' Chuck right about now. The climate in this neck of the woods is in serious need of some control. I wonder what his Superhero outfit looks like. I wonder if he charges for his services, or if he just dashes around changing the weather for free.
Maybe I should give him a call.
**Seriously? I hatehatehate it when I get back from vacation and the temp has taken it upon herself to rearrange my office space. Particularly the desktop on my computer. Honey, you're only here for a week. I'm here for the foreseeable future. DO NOT mess with my stuff. I have been here for twenty-plus (yikes) years, and I have it arranged this way for a reason. If you're that damn bored, go scrub the bathroom or something.
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