The air conditioner here in the office automatically turns off at 7 PM. The loud whirring sound it’s been making – the one you forgot about as the day progressed – has ceased, and without the usual banter and carrying on that is normally in abundance during work hours, everything is quiet.

This event is not so special by itself, but it’s become synonymous with being in the office late. First there’s an audible groan in unison from the remaining staff. Then everyone peeks out from behind their cubicle walls to give each other a glance and a nod of solidarity before returning to work.

Except apparently I’m lying because just now when it turned off, someone actually yelled “PARTAY” and then ran to the kitchen.

The timing could have been a coincidence, but I like to think he was taking a stand against the air conditioner and its authoritarian regime. It won’t work, of course. No one has ever lived to tell the tale. But I admire his gusto.