Howdy, folks. Glen Blamstead here. Every November, right about the time the first real cold snap rolls through Mora, the Sherman shop goes to war. Not with the weather. With each other. Over the thermostat. This year it went on all week, and I'm here to report it was a real heated debate. Mostly because nobody would let the heat actually stay on.
Here's how it starts. Monday morning, it's nineteen degrees out, and the first guy in the door cranks the thermostat up like he's trying to grow tomatoes. By ten o'clock, the second guy walks in from the yard, sweating through his flannel, and cranks it back down so far you can see your breath by the coffee pot. By noon, the dial has been turned more times than a radio in a pickup with bad reception.
The Two Teams
Every shop has two kinds of people. There are the Furnace People and the Window People. The Furnace People wear a stocking cap indoors from October to April and think sixty-eight degrees is a cruel joke. The Window People wear short sleeves in a snowstorm and believe any temperature above sixty-two is a personal attack.
I'm on the Furnace team. I make no apologies. I've lived in Minnesota my whole life, and I figure I've earned the right to be warm inside a building I helped put a roof on. My wife says I'm cold-blooded. I told her that's not true, I'm just warm-hearted with poor circulation.
Our lead guy on the Window team is one of the younger fellas on the crew. He came to work last Tuesday in a T-shirt when it was flurrying. I asked him if he was cold. He said, "Glen, cold is a mindset." I said, "So is frostbite." He didn't have an answer for that, but he did turn the thermostat down again on his way past.
Escalation
By Wednesday, things got serious. Somebody put a piece of tape over the thermostat with the words "DO NOT TOUCH" written on it. An hour later, somebody else had written "OR ELSE" under it. Then somebody added a little drawing of a snowman. I don't know what the snowman meant, but I took it as a threat.
I tried to settle it like a reasonable adult. I called a meeting. I brought donuts. I proposed a compromise: sixty-five degrees, everybody dresses in layers, and nobody touches the dial without a two-thirds majority vote. Everybody agreed. The meeting lasted eleven minutes. The agreement lasted about forty.
Biscuit, my dog, has been the only one truly happy through all of this. He found the heat vent by my desk on day one, and he has not moved since. When the heat's on, he's sprawled out on it like he's at a beach resort. When somebody turns it down, he gets up, gives the whole office a look of deep disappointment, and lies back down with a sigh you can hear from the parking lot. Honestly, he's the most effective lobbyist we've got.
A Customer Weighs In
Thursday, a fella came in to talk about building a shop for his tractor and his woodworking. He walked through the door, stopped, and said, "Why is it colder in here than it is outside?" I explained that the Window team had won the last round. He nodded like he understood completely. Turns out his house has the same war going on, just with his teenage kids.
We got to talking about his new shop, and the very first thing he asked about was heat. Insulation, in-floor heat, a good furnace, the whole works. He said, "I want one building on this property where I control the thermostat." I've never understood a customer better in my life. We spent a good hour on it, and I think the man left with a little more hope in his heart than when he came in.
The Peace Treaty
Friday morning, I finally found the solution. I didn't change the thermostat. I changed the seating chart. The Window People now sit by the big overhead door, where the draft comes in every time somebody walks through. The Furnace People sit by the heater. Biscuit stays on his vent, because frankly, he was there first.
It's been peaceful ever since. Well, mostly. Somebody did sneak the dial up two degrees this morning. I'm not saying who. But I will say it's very nice and toasty by my desk, and Biscuit and I are both in a great mood.
If you're thinking about a shop of your own this winter, one where you, and only you, rule the thermostat, stop by Sherman or holler at us. We'll keep the coffee hot. The office temperature, I can't promise.
