Over the weekend, my classroom was added to a giant system which now allows the maintenance department to control the thermostat in my room. For those of you playing along at home, that means that I am no longer in control of my classroom temperature, a fate worse then death as far as I am concerned.
Death, of course, would at least mean a colder temperature. And that is the issue for me. For years, it's been a point of personal pride that I never turn on the heat in my classroom. For starters, I run to the warm to begin with and once I start moving around and teaching, I really want the room to stay cool. No one wants to see me sweat, you know?. Add to that a dozen over-heated teenage bodies and you've got a recipe for disaster. Or warm, funky smells, which in my book is the same thing. So, I like it cold, where fear of hypothermia keeps us all alert and reduces the unfragrant nature of life together.
Today, I arrived to my classroom and discovered that the heat was on. I was wearing short-sleeves. I don't know who the master controller is, but I will find out. The master controller, of course, will also come to know me as a cranky, cold-hearted bitch.
Why? Because it's true.