THE THERMOSTAT CONSPIRACY
Updated: Nov 2
Kimboverse Chronicles | Vol 1, Chap 5
Kimbopausal: Hot Side of Heaven — Entry 004
The Kimboverse Suggestion Box investigation was officially closed.
The Ruler had issued her final ruling.
The unauthorized appointments had been revoked. The suggestion box had been confiscated. And the thermostat was scheduled to return to normal operation.
Unfortunately, nobody had considered what normal operation meant to Kimbopausal.
For several days, the temperature throughout the Kimboverse had been the subject of increasing disagreement.
Some residents claimed it was too cold.
Others insisted it was too hot.
Kimbopausal maintained that both statements were correct.
Sometimes within the same thirty seconds.
The situation became considerably worse when she discovered that the thermostat still displayed two words:
GOOD LUCK.
She considered this an act of aggression.
And unlike the previous complaints, this one came with documentation.
KIMBOPAUSAL — ENTRY 004
Once upon a hot flash…
I would like to begin by stating that I am a reasonable woman.
I have reasonable expectations.
I expect a thermostat to display a temperature.
I expect air conditioning to produce cold air.
And I expect my internal organs to stop attempting to recreate the surface of the sun.
Apparently, these expectations are considered excessive.
When I approached the thermostat, it displayed two words.
GOOD LUCK.
Good luck?
GOOD LUCK?!
Darling, I don’t need luck.
I need forty-seven degrees and a ceiling fan with a personal vendetta.
Naturally, I contacted The Ruler.
I was informed that the thermostat had been restored to normal operation.
I asked what temperature it was set to.
No answer.
I asked who had approved the original modification.
Still no answer.
I asked whether anyone involved in this decision had ever experienced a hot flash while wearing a bra.
The conversation ended.
I considered that suspicious.
Further investigation revealed a document titled:
EMERGENCY CLIMATE-CONTROL COMMITTEE
I had several questions.
First, who authorized this committee?
Second, why had nobody consulted the one person in the Kimboverse who experiences all four seasons before breakfast?
And third…
Why was its official headquarters a chair?
Not an office.
Not a conference room.
An upholstered chair.
A perfectly ordinary piece of furniture positioned directly beside the thermostat.
There was a clipboard on its seat.
Naturally, I examined it.
The first page contained a proposed temperature policy.
Section One: Residents experiencing excessive warmth may request temporary cooling.
Temporary?
My hot flashes don’t make appointments.
The second page recommended opening a window.
I would like the record to reflect that opening a window in Alabama is not climate control.
It’s inviting the outside to participate.
The third page was considerably more disturbing.
It contained a handwritten recommendation:
“If the thermostat causes further complaints, remove the thermostat.”
Underneath, someone had added:
“Or remove the person complaining.”
The handwriting was crimson.
I recognized the style.
I did not recognize the authority.
But it was the final page that truly concerned me.
Under the heading DESIGNATED CLIMATE-CONTROL REPRESENTATIVE, someone had written:
The Chair.
I stared at the document.
Then at the chair.
Then back at the document.
Apparently, I had been replaced by upholstery.
I immediately contacted The Ruler.
She informed me that no climate-control committee had been authorized.
I asked why the chair had been appointed.
She informed me that furniture was not eligible for official appointments.
I asked whether anyone had informed the furniture.
The conversation ended.
Again.
I considered this a pattern.
I returned to the committee headquarters to conduct my own investigation.
The chair was gone.
The clipboard remained.
So did a small pile of glitter.
And one cookie crumb.
I stared at the evidence.
Glitter.
Cookies.
Crimson handwriting.
This was no ordinary thermostat malfunction.
This was a coordinated attack on my remaining patience.
I submitted my findings to The Ruler.
Her response was brief.
“The thermostat is functioning as intended.”
I asked whether that intention included psychological warfare.
No response.
I then informed her that I would be conducting my own temperature investigation.
She advised against it.
I advised her to purchase a fan.
We have reached an understanding.
By understanding, I mean neither of us is speaking.
Later that evening, I discovered another document tucked behind the thermostat.
It was labeled:
CLIMATE-CONTROL COMMITTEE — SEATING ARRANGEMENTS
There was only one assigned seat.
The upholstered chair.
And beneath the seating arrangement was a handwritten instruction:
“Chair must be returned before the next investigation.”
Returned?
To whom?
And why did a chair need to attend investigations?
I examined the final document.
Under AUTHORIZED BY, someone had written:
“See previous seating arrangements.”
Previous?
How many committees had this chair been involved in?
And why did a piece of furniture have a more impressive résumé than half the Kimboverse?
I checked the bottom of the document.
There was a signature.
Or what appeared to be one.
Unfortunately, someone had drawn a cookie over it.
I have forwarded the document for further examination.
Not because I expect answers.
But because I am beginning to suspect that the only object in the Kimboverse with a more complicated schedule than mine…
Is that chair.
— Kimbopausal, Hot Side of Heaven
P.S. If anyone finds the thermostat’s original settings, return them immediately. And if you find the person responsible for displaying GOOD LUCK, tell them I have a heating pad, a frozen washcloth, and several questions.
END OF CHAPTER FIVE
Somewhere in the Kimboverse, an ordinary upholstered chair has acquired another unauthorized responsibility. Its whereabouts remain unconfirmed. The temperature, meanwhile, remains a matter of considerable disagreement.
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