I love digital thermostats. In fact, I have one in my house. I put it up myself, to replace the ancient round Honeywell that adorned my living room, I guess, since the house was built. But it doesn't lie.
And neither does the one in the trailer, which read 53 degrees the other morning. I don't know whether there was a wind-chill factor or something, but man, it was cold! I was really glad I'd worn a coat, but I was still freezing, as were the kids. I stole the empty trailer next door, to the dismay of a teacher who was trying to wheel a TV up the trailer ramp. Well, there's no quiet time for teachers or anyone when your building is at 250% capacity.
But the next period, it was back to the icy trailer, with a larger class that was twice as dissatisfied, because I actually had to give up the warm trailer to the guy with the TV. Why couldn't we be in there watching TV instead of freezing to death in here? Another phone call got me an opportunity--there was yet another vacant trailer we could use. But when I went to check it, it turned out to be even colder than mine.
While I was scouting the vacant trailer, a young woman came in and adjusted the thermostat. She explained that she had a class there the following period, and that she came every day 40 minutes early to turn on the heat. Smart. I wished she were in my class, but the heat in most of the trailers seems to be on all night, and all weekend. So much for saving energy.
After several phone calls, a custodian came out and banged on some things, and heat was restored to our little trailer. But I'll tell you, those things are no fun at all when the climate controls are on the fritz.
Good thing Mayor Bloomberg promised to get rid of them by 2012. That is, until he "clarified" his statement, explaining that what he meant was he would not get rid of them by 2012.
Stories herein containing unnamed or invented characters are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.