Titles, Bah

When you sit down at WordPress, the first thing it wants is a title. That makes it seem as if I had some idea of what I was going to write about in this mishmash and most of the time I just sit down and it’s a bubbly twisty stream of unconsciousness.

Sometime’s I’ll go back and change the title to fit the content, but mostly I pretend that some Boswell will come along and tidy things up.

For example, did you know that one of our greatest authors (Herman Melville) couldn’t spell a lick?

You could look it up. He would begin his great whale book with an entire chapter on types of whales, and his oldest daughter was stuck correcting the thousands of misspellings.

Well, I guess you don’t want to hear stories about what an atrocious speller Melville was, after all, he didn’t have the equally annoying auto-correct.

So here’s a story based on the movie Spartacus, which is telescoping the ending, but still mostly true.

The thermostat for the dining room (yes that again) is usually set to 68F or lower. Just about everyone in the room is way over 65 and wearing winter clothing. Management has been told at every “resident meeting” about the issue.

The controlling thermostat is right above the honeymooners table to my right.

The table for two where you hear the same lovey dove conversations followed by the proposal every night, and if you’re hearing is still good, you want to puke.

So one pleasant dinner, while everyone is staring into space and shivering, I stand up, limp to the table and without touching the thermostat, just stand and stare at it: 64F

I motion to the people who are mucho frio to stand up and join me. I point at the thermostat. My spanish friend Victor gets up, and stands beside me. I tell him in broken Spanish to ask his spanish friends who are cold to join us here.

It catches on. The English speaking frozen old people get to their feet and shuffle over and soon there is a semi-circle of about 15 people, that’s almost half the room, standing by the thermostat.

Waitresses come by to see what the revolt is all about. Soon someone calls the manager, who comes by, looks at the temp and turns it up to 72F. He looks at us and says, who started this? “It was me.” I say. “You promised to raise the heat in here.” Then Victor steps forward. In spanish he says, I started it. And soon everyone is stepping forward claiming credit.

We had another promise from the ineffectual manager to put a lock on the thermostat and the next day, when he was off, it was turned back down to 64F.

Even that small victory was gratifying, but Spartacus did not end up very well. I know that.

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