It's colder than a Wiccan's teat in a metal brassiere! All day long I've been freezing in my control center, back in the corner of my classroom right in front of a window. That window is not very weatherproofed. My feet were blocks of ice. I wore my old blue and black plaid flannel CPO-type jacket that I stole from Farmer H about 10 years ago. We don't have a very strict dress code at Newmentia. I need to get some of those insulated boots that military troops wear in the arctic. And a cap with ear flaps, maybe bright orange. And one of those mummy sleeping bags with the hood.
The lunch table was not much better. It sits right in the middle of the jet stream, apparently. A wind comes whipping down the main aisle by the kitchen to rival that whipping wind of the plains of Oklahoma. Maybe I'll write a song about it. That might warm me up. The shivering did not. I ate my lunch as fast as I could, so I could shove my hands into the opposite sleeves of my stolen CPO jacket and warm them on my goose-pimpled forearms. It's a wonder my nose didn't drop off from frostbite.
I swear, I could have easily gone unobserved if I had wandered into the middle of a performance by Blue Man Group.