If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? Yeah, but what’s a girl supposed to do when the stupid HVAC is wigging out? Oh, yeah, they say it’s working all right, but man, can you believe what they think is right? I mean, come on, just because warm air finally comes out and eventually the house warms up, I mean, seriously, am I supposed to believe the thing is fixed? What’s a fix anyway? That thing that makes you feel good or at least makes you forget why you felt bad?
Bad, smad. It’s all relative, right? I mean we’ve all got those relatives that make us crazy. Pull your hair out time, because if you don’t do it first, they’ll sure do it for you. And where does that get you? Bald patches, that’s where. Of course with bald patches, you might maybe feel the warm air more and then maybe you won’t feel cold.
So, anyway, like I was saying, if they think the way the heater’s working now is right, what happens when we switch to A/C? Will the thing run non-stop but never do the job? Oh sure, it’s easy for you people on the West Side where the temps don’t do much moving up or down. Try living somewhere else. Like further out the 10 freeway where you get to colder nights and hotter days. Hey, no jive, I’m telling it like it is. We’re out there in the desert. Although, I must confess, not as far out in the desert as say, Palm Springs, or Needles. Needles. Now that’s hot. Drove across the Mojave to the Painted Desert and Monument Valley in Arizona, and on to New Mexico. 110 degrees in the shade. If I’m lying I’m dying. Dying for an ice cream cone or a chocolate shake while trying to find some shade under the arms of a Saguaro Cactus. That’s like trying to stay out of the rain under a scarecrow. Ain’t gonna happen, my friend.
When Dad’s got the car running again and the four of us kids and Mom are back inside, roaring down HWY 66 at sixty miles an hour, the windows all rolled down to keep all of us from melting, now that’s a scene, everybody’s hair is standing on end and all arms are up at an angle, anything to dry out those pits, anything to keep one part of your body from touching another part of your body. At least it’s dry air, right? Thought that was nuts? You ain’t seen nothing yet. Just keep pointing that car east until you get to real heat. ‘Cause ain’t nothing hot like good ol’ humidity.
If I’m lying, I’m dying. Oh yeah, you think you’re dying. Try breathing when it’s 95 degrees out and at least 90% humidity. Might as well just forget taking a shower and putting on clean clothes. Did you know Atlanta didn’t even become a serious city until the 1960’s when air conditioning became the thing to do? They put A/C in all those offices and voila! No more mid-day siestas. What do you know, a banking center, a business center, an up and coming city bursts into life.
I mean, you’ve seen “Gone With the Wind”, right? Why do you think those big old plantations had shutters on all the windows with heavy drapes and genteel ladies spent the heat of the day in their crinolines and wore out their delicate wrists moving their tiny fans back and forth.
You can dig it, right? You gotta do what it takes to breath, man. Gotta keep the outside looking good. Keep the sweat dried off and the smiling face painted on. I mean, who’s your daddy? The one who takes care of you, right? And who wants to take care of you when you’re looking all bedraggled and wilted? Who’s gonna trust you as their Realtor when the A/C in your car dies and you have to excuse yourself to go dry off and put on the dry clothes on that you left hanging in the office, because you knew the things you’d worn from home would be totally ruined by the humidity by the time you got to the office?
But I digress; it’s the heater we’re talking about. And hey, this is April. Shouldn’t be too long and we won’t need the heater till next fall, right? Ha! You wish! I’m not alone in this predicament. There’s my 85-year-old mother who’s cold unless it’s at least 75 degrees inside the house. And the absolute rub? Live long enough in the same space as the elderly and your own body temp changes and what do you know? You’re cold too, unless it’s 75 degrees inside. Now that’s irritating, my friend. Just plain irritating. Know what I mean, jellybean?