For the last eleven years, I've lived in a downtown Boulder condominium. I much enjoy living here -- it's age appropriate. The rooms are all on one floor; there's an elevator; underground parking for the new Subaru; no snow shoveling; hardly any upkeep. It's quiet inside and out -- but right around the corner, just a block away, is the semi-famous Boulder Mall, with all the urban stuff that one could want. A music venue. Restaurants, shops, a bank, a drugstore, a barbershop, and just a half mile to the west, the very resourceful Boulder Public Library. In season, a farmer's market. Tourists and natives peacefully strolling. A good place for a guy my age to "hang."
There is, however, a small fly in the ointment. This past January, Ms. Reynolds, my consort and odalisque (we don't use the W word, or the H word either) bought a condo down the corridor from mine. As a result, both of us traverse the short distance (75 feet) between hers and mine multiple times a day before ending up in my place for dinner, perhaps a movie, and sleep. The difficulty is that there's a quirk in this building's heating system. The corridor is always frigid; for some reason that no one seems to understand, the air-conditioning, need it or not, is always turned up to 11. The temperature stands at 58F, summer and winter. The people who manage the building say that nothing can be done about the arctic blasts. Hard to believe, but apparently true.
We call our passage from one apartment to the other, "braving the polar vortex." The corridor itself is "the tundra."
In an effort to remedy this situation, I have written the following letter to the authorities.
"Dear Managers of the Building:
Inasmuch as it has proven impossible to raise the temperature of the corridor higher than 58F, I propose that we attack this flaw with a new and, I dare to suggest, more imaginative strategy. If we can't raise the temperature, let us lower it. With a little effort we can get it down to a consistent 48F. We could then make some money by using the corridor as a sort of root cellar. I envision a series of individual wooden boxes, say, perhaps 6' by 4', where residents at modest cost could store their beets, carrots, onions, and potatoes (bought in bulk at the Farmer's Market). It might even be possible to rent some of the boxes to outsiders and bring a little extra income into the building. What a marvelous (and ecologically sound) solution to our problem!!
Wait. On further thought, I have an even better idea. Let's lower the temperature another couple of degrees, to 37F, the ideal for storing dry-aged beef. The corridor could then be re-configured as a meat locker. I doubt it woulds cost more than $100 to install a series of hooks in the ceiling, from which residents (and outside renters) could hang their sides of beef. Everyone knows that dry-aged beef is premium eating. I think this could be a real money-maker for the property.
I don't see any possible objection to either of these ideas, but I'd want the board to decide which one seems most promising and most lucrative.
And by the way, I noticed the other day that a pair of arctic foxes seem to have taken up residence in the corridor. We'd probably have to do something about them before we hang the beef, or there could be complications.
Also, I might be mistaken but I think a saw an ermine skittering right near the elevator."
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