Being a blogger, I obviously have a life much differently than you all do now. Every night, I go to loft parties where they shoot vodka commericals. There are huge bowls of hipster spectacles available so as you listen intently to other people, you can pick one up and begin to nibble on the arms. And when I walk into these loft parties, people shout “BRENDAN!!!! We just read your last blog… and well, Bravo!” And I hug Joan Rivers, and we move on. Oops… didn’t mean to name drop (you know who told me that was a bad idea? Bobby DeNiro). But it wasn’t always this way, I used to work in an office. I won’t specify the company, but let’s just say it had the title of when you exchange one thing for another, and is now called “Dominion Enterprises.”

There I was, übermensch Brendan Kennedy pretending to be the Clark Kent of sales. Calling cats on the telephone and pretending that I could revolutionize the marketing strategy their motorcycle dealership was using. Mr. Kennedy’s dress code for said phone based annoyance? Long sleeve shirt, slacks, and a corporate business noose/tie. Yea, I’m going to annoy someone by calling them to convince them of some bullshit, and if I don’t sound like I’m wearing fine silk around my throat, well who’s going to buy from me?

Now, as silly as this was, I could get by in winter. Summer was a different story. In summer, a man’s body changes. In winter, it is covered in skin. In summer, it is replaced by a soggy sticky alternative, often resulting in a condition known as swamp balls (medically speaking). Up top, wearing a tie helped seal in all that steam. What did the women have to wear to work? Anything mildly professional looking. This obviously means looking ugly and showing as much skin as possible. So let me paint a picture for you:

It is June, and the weather has become 146 degrees Celcius. The trip back from lunch into the office building is a treacherous one with coworkers collapsing and beginning to explode ala being on the Martian surface w/o protection as in Total Recall. If you are lucky enough to make it back inside, you are now soaked with perspiration, and your inability to get fresh air causes further sweating, ad nauseum. After 1 minute you feel like you’re in a sauna. After 2 minutes, you can actually hold unsealed preserves in your hands, and as you let them go, you can hear their lids suck closed minutes later.

As you begin to loosen your tie, a 200 pound woman wearing a low cut shirt and a skirt up to her knees walks over to the AC and turns it off, venting from her food covered maw “I’m frrrreeezing!”

I always wanted to say “Are you, cold there? Really? Well, gee, I’m amazed, as you whales are known for gorging during the feeding season to build up your blubber so you can swim around in Arctic waters. And well, what with you being about a half a world away, I supposed you’d be okay. But I’ll go ahead and let you turn the AC off so you’ll be comfortable, rather than you put on some appropriate office clothes. Come back in ten minutes… I’m going to put limestone and coal under my taint, and I’ll see if I get marble or diamond first.”

I never did. I would just perspire, drink coffee, and get stressed out at the job I had. The moral of the story? If you’re a woman dress appropriately for work, because you end up turning off the AC.