I could turn the air conditioner on to stem the stream of sweat running down my sides, but that would mean having to sacrifice my hearing as there is still something wrong (horribly wrong) with the air conditioner in my office.It makes a sound like death metal gone right, and going by the howling grind, the machine probably is in its last throws. And it’s not one of those it’s-getting-hot-in-here, so-let’s-take-off-all-our-clothes kind of perspiration situations. It’s a highly unsexy, hard to breathe, impossible to work kind of sweatshop.
Of course if you stepped through the door into Mr Bigshot’s office it was as silent as a mouse (a dead mouse), so I have to quickly decide which sense is more important; my hearing or sense of smell.
Ms earmuffs-it-is M.
