The Daily Hassle

Laughs on the go.

cool it baby.

The office has one battle all day long and it's not the long standing battle of the sexes.

Mainly because the females have long since won that battle especially with me, Jonny G, being the only male in our office. At least I can say I’m the smartest male in the office. Prove me wrong. These days I just try to stay out of everyone’s way to not have rumours spread about me, because well, you know how chicks are. Oops. There I go again. Thank god most of these thoughts are internal.

If it actually did come down to a battle of intelligence, well, let’s face it - #metoo. (Plus, I have always maintained that women have smaller brains due to the one element of believing a person wears make-up actually makes them more appealing.) Once again, internal monologues save lives.

The battle is not based on vanity, which I'm proud to say I know I won circa “the great high school choir debacle of 1999”. When I held that A flat at the end of New York City in addition to doing the whole jazz hands thing.

No, the daily battle doesn't concern any of these things...it's over the dreaded Air-conditioner remote.

The females that I work with have constructed their war over the clothes they wear; constantly battling over the AC remote control like vultures over the last piece of bloodied meat in the desert. If one wears an off shoulder top, there’s another wearing a shirt. If one wears a shell top, there’s another wearing a tube. All in an effort not to look the same, but due to the fabric, all sweating at different temperatures. Also I didn’t know there was at least 45 different types of tops until I worked with these creatures.

Naturally, the more conservative women who wear long sleeve shirts and in some cases sweater vests, will like a nice cool atmosphere. Whereas the less conservative ones (or as I like to call them - "eye candy”) will want a temperature resembling the tropics. Humid and sticky.

It hasn't come to blows yet and unfortunately probably never will  (I'm a sucker for cat fights) , but it's funny trying to see their reasoning for increasing and reducing the temperature in the room to suit their style of clothes on any particular day.

I wrote - "SEE their reasoning" because, like most women, they do their best fighting behind your back. There's no group meeting or show of attention to determine the final temperature of the Air Conditioner. They wait like cheetah's in the plastic jungle for one woman to leave till they pounce on the remote and quickly change it.   

Every few minutes, there's always a change in temperature and fan speed and wind direction. After a while, it does get a little annoying. Watching these bodies walking past me. Away and Towards. Away and Towards. Away and Towards.
 There's no talking with them.  You can't go up to a group of women and say things like - "Hey, why don't you all wear a set uniform - like Japanese schoolgirls!"  

They wouldn’t even take it as a joke - If I were.

" There's no talking with them.  You can't go up to a group of women and say things like - "Hey, why don't you all wear a set uniform - like Japanese schoolgirls!"  
They wouldn’t even take it as a joke - If I were. "
 
Today, however,  for some reason,  call it boredom or a life wasted in a 5ft by 5ft cubicle,  I thought I could have some fun. I secretly lowered the temperate to 18 degrees and removed a battery from the remote with the use of my mini screwdriver.  The ONLY mini screwdriver on the floor. Genius. 
I felt like I was in an episode of Mission Impossible, but in my case, I had no idea of what I was going to accomplish.
It didn't take long.

 After an hour, there were two crowds, one around the remote wondering why it wasn't working, the other in a long cue outside the female toilets. Little did I know cold weather affects the bladder. I was coincidentally wearing a jumper so I didn’t care.

Like most women, when they are stuck on a dilemma, they turn to a man to solve their problem.

 "John, something's wrong with the remote, can you fix it?". 

I stood up, looked into the eyes of the hungry vultures standing around me and with a grin I said. 

"Of course, but I am pretty hungry, so it might have to wait till after lunch". 

Before I even finished that sentence, I had offers from the women to buy me lunch, do my dry-cleaning, get me lunch tomorrow, and even drive me home. I humbly accepted and asked for a little privacy.

 When no one was around, I unscrewed the back of the remote, replaced the battery and tighten the screws on the back of the remote. I announced that I had fixed it and they could use it again.

 So then, for the next few days, I received my free lunches, lifts, and laundry - with no sign of a guilt trip anywhere in sight.

 Men might be slaves for women at times, but women will always be slaves to their fashion.