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archive:stories:aircon
                             AIR CONDITIONING
            My telephone receiver slams down on its cradle.  I'm
        upset. I am soaked to the skin, sweat runs from my brow.
        The air conditioner that I so naively  entrusted to the
        Yellow Pages Repair shop is delayed another two weeks.
            I could have it back tomorrow, I was told, if I happen
        to have a compressor relief control valve sensor assembly,
        part number 3B25189927.4A, in my pocket.  The repairman is
        a funny fellow.
            Very funny.
            "Its a bit stuffy in here," my secretary says, in an
        attempt to explain her entering my office.  This is
        obvious of course as nary a breeze wafts through the
        three-foot square hole in my wall that appeared in
        synchronization with the air conditioner's disappearance.
        She goes to the thermostat, checks the temperature, and
        adjusts its setting for the fourth time this morning.
        Shaking my head in frustration, I again try to decipher
        the overdue report that is now blurred into illegibility
        by my
        sweat.
            An excellent typist, she's the best secretary I've
        ever had.  Completely fulfilling her secretarial duties,
        she otherwise keeps to herself.  Although I am by nature a
        curious man, personal matters between us have never been
        discussed.  However, with the increase in temperature, her
        attire has of late become remarkable as to its increasing
        skimpiness.
            As to the hole in my wall, I have attempted to fill it
        with wadded papers and rags and such.  This has proven
        ineffective, no thanks to the active flocks of nesting
        pigeons in the neighborhood.
            Last spring I reeceived a bill from the local office
        supply.  It was rather badly smeared, but I did notice
        something about furniture.  A bill from the local office
        supply shop recently gave me a clue about my secretary's
        personal life.
            Her more recent change to now quite revealing attire
        confirms my suspicions.
             She obviously spends every non-working hour in
        thorough personal exploration of all things culinary.
             In desperation, I reach for the phone.



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