The Thermostat War
A cramped two-bedroom apartment in Minneapolis at 9:47 PM in January, where the hallway thermostat has been adjusted fourteen times in the last hour and the little plastic cover is hanging by one hinge.
The thermostat reads 71°F. Double wants 74. Bust wants 68. They have been circling the hallway like predators for forty-five minutes, each waiting for the other to go to the bathroom so they can make their move. The heating bill last month was $387, the landlord has emailed twice about "aggressive thermostat usage," and the plastic tab that locks the cover shut snapped off during round nine. This ends tonight.
“Three degrees. I'm asking for three degrees. My hands are BLUE, man — I typed my password wrong four times because my fingers won't bend.”
“Your hands are blue because you're holding a frozen pizza box. And 74 in January is how you get a $500 bill and a landlord who changes the locks.”
The temperature hit 74 and, against all thermodynamic logic, the heating bill actually dropped $12 because the furnace stopped short-cycling from being toggled every four minutes. The landlord's third email was just the word 'finally' in lowercase.
See? The furnace WANTED 74. We were fighting its nature, man.
We didn't win. We just stopped losing in the most expensive way possible.