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Fix the AC, or the Pants Come Off!
As I write this, the temperature outside is headed toward 90 degrees Fahrenheit. There's a cloud of air-borne particulate matter looming on the horizon. We're not supposed to fill gas tanks, mow lawns, eat broccoli or do anything else that might add to the air pollution.
This is the day my air conditioner has chosen to die.
Well, not the air conditioner, per se. The blower in the furnace. It gave up the ghost, announcing its demise by grinding, groaning and filling the house with the unmistakable odor of Something Bad Happening, like the time Grandma dropped her teeth into the woodstove.
Actually, this is the second time in four years that my heating and cooling system has assassinated its blower. The first was a few winters ago. Back then the house felt like a deep freeze. Today it feels like a self-cleaning oven. Which raises the question:
Why don't furnaces and air conditioners go kablooey on days when it won't make you miserable?
I know what you're thinking. You are thinking that the heat has fried my circuits. "Redmond, you dolt," you are saying, "furnaces and air conditioners don't go out on nice days because you don't run them on nice days."
(Or something to that effect. I was just going by what I would say, minus a few colorful words here and there, the presence of which can be blamed on the fact that I'm starting to build up a pretty impressive case of heat rash, and it isn't even lunchtime.)
Well, I was thinking about those days when you can be comfortable with just a little blast of heat now and then, or a little shot of cool air once in a while … days when you could just put on a sweater or take off your pants and manage, until the furnace guy gets here, in which the pants go back on in a hurry.
But no. Furnaces and air conditioners only die when you need them.
So now I'm sitting here in my office, which is ideally positioned to catch both morning and afternoon sun, being cooled, sort of, by two fans with the throttles turned to Turbo. It sounds like I have a couple of Cessnas in here, getting ready for takeoff. And I'm sneezing because the fans are picking up every stray cat hair that the vacuum cleaner missed, and launching them straight for my nose. (Note to self: Write nasty letter to vacuum cleaner manufacturer. Also to cat, "Baldy.")
And I'm waiting for the furnace guy. This is the part that really makes me chafe. Well, actually, I'm chafing for more than one reason, but any-way. See, this is a company that just loves to act all warm and fuzzy and tell people that if they're not on time, you don't pay for the call. The thing is, they won't tell me what time they'll be here. All I know is that it will be "sometime today." With that kind of scheduling, they're never late. What a scam.
Oh well. No sense getting angry. On a day like this, with no air conditioning, I'm already hot under the collar, as well as about anyplace else you can imagine. And if this heat rash is any indication, some you can't. That's it. The pants are history. Until the furnace guy gets here, I mean.
© 2007 Mike Redmond. All Rights Reserved.
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