To: All third-floor employees
Date: Oct. 9, 8:00 AM PDT
Subject: Thermostat

Dear employees,

Recently we have received a number of complaints about the temperature settings on the third floor. Normally this would not be a matter that would be brought to my attention, but reports have reached my ears of a war brewing between you, of covert late-night operations to push the thermostat a degree or two in your favor, of unauthorized memos titled “IT’S TOO COLD IN HERE” sent to a select few, and I felt I must intervene.

I have heard of space heaters stolen out of unwatched offices. I have heard of meetings interrupted by malcontents who insist one conference room is colder than another. I have heard stories that would chill your heart and make your blood run cold, were it not a frozen sludge already.

As your employer, I feel it is my duty to intervene where negotiations have failed. Your comfort and happiness are, of course, of paramount importance to me, and I tell you this for your own good: The office is not too cold. The office has never been too cold. You are weak, and your cardigans make you look pathetic and you will never be offered a promotion.

Did Andrew Carnegie decide to lay off Bessemering steel because it was “too cold” in nineteenth-century Pennsylvania? He did not. He Bessemered all the steel he could find until a grateful nation built him a library as a token of their appreciation. Did George Washington complain Valley Forge was “too cold” to fight the British? He did not. He stayed there all winter, no matter how many of his soldiers’ feet froze off, and he got the job done. Did the Little Match Girl decide to turn in and have a cozy night by the fire in a cushy workhouse because it was “too cold” to move the rest of her merchandise? I don’t know; I never finished The Little Match Girl, I’m a very busy man. 

Sharon tells me the Little Match Girl didn’t either. She may have frozen to death, but I’ll bet dollars to donuts she sold the last of her matches first. That’s the kind of attitude I’d like to see a little more of around here. We give you an opt-in partial dental plan and bagels every other Friday, but sometimes I wonder just how many of you would be willing to freeze to death selling matches for this company, if we sold matches.

You are beneficiaries of this great American legacy, and look at how you have squandered your inheritance. You make me sick, all of you. Those sweaters look ridiculous. Take them off. This is an office, not a sweater festival.

You shivering knockabouts do realize, I hope, that it is only October, and that it’s going to get a great deal colder before it starts getting warmer. Is this the kind of behavior I can expect from you in January after the pipes freeze? Taking off your work shoes at your desk and putting on house slippers and Ugg boots? Cubicle walls don’t cover everything. I see things. I know things.

The thermostat stays as it is. I will encase it in ice, I will wreathe it in enchantments, I will destroy it with my own two hands before I see you simple, heat-hungry beasts tamper with its icy perfection again. I will tear this building down to the roots and watch your teeth chatter and your lips blister and go blue, watch you twist and sway in the winter wind, before I will see you turn this office into an opium den of warmth and indolence. The next miserable dog among you who suggests we adjust the thermostat to 71° will be placed on three seasonal party-planning committees and buried in project management.

Also, next Friday will be early-release for all employees who do not telecommute.

Sincerely,
S____