Summer in the deep south is hot, very hot, and humid. You’ve heard it said, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Phooey. It is the HEAT and the HUMIDITY. From Mid-May to Mid-October in south Louisiana every day is hot and humid with a chance of a pop-up shower in the afternoon.
Murphy’s law struck our AC last week. If you are not familiar with Murphy, you can read about it here. Murphy’s main law is: “If anything can go wrong it will.” And I add, “Generally things go wrong at the worst possible time.”
Case in point. My best friend, Cindy was our house guest last week. Thursday night the Sicilian went to bed at 9:30. My friend and I retired at 10 p.m. As I passed the thermostat I noticed the reading: 82 degrees. Not good.
The Sicilian falls asleep 37 seconds after his head hits the pillow, which irks me, but that is another blog. I wake him. He’s confused, disoriented, and then disgusted.
“What do you mean the AC is not working?” He mumbles.
“It’s 82. Should be 77,” I reply. “The house will be a sauna by morning. We have to put our window AC unit in here.” (Like most folks in the hurricane zone, we have a generator and room AC unit to use if power goes out during a storm.)
“What about, Cindy? We can’t let her cook in the guest room,” he said.
“I’ll bring the futon in our room. We can all sleep in here.” Then it dawns on me, we have another AC unit in the Sicilian’s manly Escape Room above the garage. I rouse Cindy and tell her she will be sleeping in another room tonight.
So begins the wrestling of two cumbersome AC units. The window unit will not fit in our room because of plantation shutters, so we lug it to Cindy’s new guest room. Meanwhile the Sicilian has gone outside with the flash light to check the central AC unit which is humming like a large bee. I shut it off before it ignites.
He shoves the window unit toward Cindy and me. Our window sills are not flat, the unit leans precariously outside. The vents to drip humidity are mostly outside the room. We shut the window. Before the unit can be turned on, gravity takes over and the unit is hanging by it’s cord outside the window.
“Quick,” I say to Cindy. We have to get it back in the window before the Sicilian sees this.”
Cindy and I pull the AC back through the window, lean it inward and turn it on. It works, but humidity is dripping on the window sill. Dishtowels fix that.
There is a gaping hole around the AC unit letting hot air into the room because the side expansion units won’t fit. “I’ll get a cookie sheet.” Too small, it fell right through the window. At last a plastic cutting board and lots of duct tape plug the window. Cindy is busy putting sheets on the futon bed, while I turn on the over head fan and install a floor fan. At 11 p.m. she is relaxing in her cool bedroom.
As for the Sicilian and me, we must now bring the floor AC unit downstairs. This is similar to lugging a Volkswagen with a 10 foot cumbersome exhaust system down a flight of stairs. Thankfully it installs easier than the window unit.
Ever the gentleman, the Sicilian says he will sleep on my side of the bed where the AC will be blasting, because ” I know you don’t like fans blowing on you.”
“You don’t have a lamp on your side. How can I read?” I ask.
“It’s late. Go to sleep,” he says. And he does.
If only, I think. I read by flashlight, not an easy trick, but at least the room was cool.
NOTE: As for the AC repair, we were given an appoint 4 days hence. But, thankfully my post on FaceBook rewarded me with a commercial AC man who lives in the neighborhood. We were up and running a day later. Woo hoo. Or should I say COOL man, cool?