Temperamental

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.