I’m at the Lift, steady crowd, servin up pints. Guy comes up to the bar, dude, Clint, it’s frickin freezin in here. I say, I know. That’s why I’m wearin pants and a long sleeve shirt. Man, he says. I’m nippin out. I am literally nippin out. Look at my shirt, Clint. Naw, that’s all-right, man. I’ll pass. But I’m sure you have great nipples.
Here’s the deal. I’ve got an illness. It’s a new illness, and I’m coinin the term. It’s called Thermostatophobe. What’s that, you say? Well, I’m gonna tell ya. It’s a fear of thermostats, and I’ve got it. I don’t wanna come a block from a thermostat, see. I’m afraid of em. Clint, could you turn up the heat? Um…do I go up or down from the number? I’m serious. I have to stand there lookin at the dial for five minutes, wonderin, hmmm, if I go up the dial does it make it cooler, or hotter? Idiot savant, much? Yeah, emphasis on idiot.
I grew up in a home without AC. In Iowa. As you know, if you live in the fine state of Iowa, summers can get brutal. I’d plead with my Dad, please, Dad, PLEASE can we get AC? He’d say, what do you mean? We’ve got AC. Just open up the window there, and you got AC.
So next time you’re comin to the Lift in the summer, bring a jacket.
Cause I ain’t touchin the thermostat.
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender.