Anything Lime



AC stands for appliance catastrophe

98.6 degrees — ideal for the internal temperature of a human body. Not ideal for the internal temperature of an apartment.

When our friend, an air conditioner repairman/superstar, offered to help, we gratefully accepted. He ended up leaving work early Saturday, planned to swing by for a few minutes after work, and head home to his (almost) wife, Stratton, who had spent much of her day planning their special dinner.

When Angel arrived, he immediately went around to different parts of our apartment checking out the various air conditioning thingys. We felt hopeful when we heard, during his poking and prodding, “Oh, this is a good sign. And this, this is a really good sign.” So we chose not to hear him when he pointed out, “Now that, THAT is a VERY BAD SIGN!” And instead, we danced around eating popsicles and such.

So he went to work, spraying toxic acid to melt both the gunky buildup on the unit and the surrounding black mold spores that we’ve no doubt spent the last four months inhaling.

“This air conditioner has never been serviced,” he told us as he removed the air filter that had gathered two thick inches of dirt and dust. This made us a little mad that we believed the woman who, when we signed our lease, told us that our apartment had been thoroughly inspected. “The air conditioner has been serviced,” she told us. I suppose I should make a visit out to that land she sold me.

We turned off the air as Angel continued what would eventually turn into more than three hours of brutal manual labor. Anyone who says Patrick and I aren’t slave drivers are dead wrong. Otherwise we wouldn’t invite a man into our house on a Saturday, not pay him, and instead eat popsicles while he slaved in the hot summer sun… in Florida, and giggle with delight as we talked with our friend about how I went as Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman for Halloween that one time.

The temperature inside our apartment continued to rise, and Stratton and I complained about the heat as we filled our pants with ice cubes and filled our guts with watermelon because, duh, poor us!

Meanwhile, Kya laid sprawled out on the couch looking like the angriest bitch on the block while I periodically dabbed her armpits with frozen turkey burgers, covered her body with damp towels and shoved ice cubes down her pants. What? She shouldn’t be wearing pants because dogs aren’t supposed to wear clothes? Oh, yes, THAT’S ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.

“Angel, do you want some watermelon?”

“No, I’m going to work until I die of acid inhalation or until your dirty air conditioner explodes because it’s filled with mold and dirt. Until then, I’ll have only a few drops of water.”

“Ok, then. Get back to work, slave.”

And that’s pretty much how it went.

So now my shiny air conditioner and I spend a lot of quality time together, ya know, just chilling.

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Comments

  1. * Stratton says:

    The accuracy overrides the hilarity on this one for me. I’ll tell you one thing, I don’t think I’ll ever look at melon, popsicles, mold, or Dr. Quinn and NOT think of you and Patrick.
    WE LOVE YOU GUYS!!!

    | Reply Posted 9 years, 4 months ago


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