Typing ain't that hard.

My office is in the middle of a light-industrial subdivision, apparently the largest L-I development in the state. Our road has become more and more sparsely populated the last couple years. The strip mall office complexes that line our side of the street seem to gain and lose occupancy like christmas lights flickering on a bad wire. The big buildings across the street are more stable, but we lost two of those this year, too.

Right now one of the bigs is getting some maintenance. It's a slab sided gray monster on the other side of the retention pond, one of those buildings with blocks of color along its side like a child's toy. Probably two or three stories high, though it's hard to tell because there are no windows.

A group of men have climbed to the top, and are inspecting the HVAC systems. They got up there via an accordian-like platform that stretched up the side of the building. Thing is, it doesn't go all the way to the top. If my human-scaling is right, here, it stopped while the top of the building was just below the average workman's solar plexus. I guess they hoisted themselves the rest of the way. And I would be okay with that. Climbing up is easy.

Climbing down? This is Chicago, folks, it's seventeen degrees out there, with a wind chill around zero. That wind is brutal. You wanna hoist your legs over the side of a building and then hop down onto a little 6x4 metal platform, swaying in the wind? I wouldn't like that.

Oh, wait. That's why I have a desk job. Right. Got it. Carry on, men-types.