A few weeks ago we, here in Arkansas, had a heat spell. It was June and everyday the temperature was up to a good 99-102 degrees. Now I know, I've talked about heat before and coming from New Mexico I am no stranger to 100 degree June days. But again, New Mexico hot and Arkansas hot are totally different things. In Arkansas this kind of heat is usually reserved for the end of July and August. I prepare all spring by stocking up with food and other essentials so that when the soul-sucking August heat hits, I'm set. I only have to venture outside on a voluntary basis or if some kind of emergency arises. Otherwise I just stay in my nice cool house, with all the west facing windows covered. But this weird June heat came, I was totally unprepared. I had thousands of places to be and things to buy so I kept having to brave the furnace outside. But every time I left the house and got into my car-- the car that could have doubled as an oven, sweat streaming down my face, the will to live quickly leaving me-- I took solace in knowing that a nice cool house waited for me when I returned. Ahh, I lived for thinking of that nice cool house.
Unfortunately, our air conditioner happened to be broken that week. So all those reviving thoughts of my nice cool house were melted just as soon as I walked inside and met nothing but stale, humid air.
We thought maybe it wasn't our air conditioner, maybe it was just so SO hot that the AC was doing its best to keep up. But when the unit did not turn off for a literal 4 days, we decided that yeah, something was probably wrong.
A guy came to the house a day or two later and confirmed: We needed to replace a coil. Whatever that means. He was going to talk to my mom to get the details all worked out, and he also added some Freon to the unit. And glory of glories! The house was cool again.
I completely forgot about the rest of the repairs needed until this morning. Rusty is out of town so I've been living up the single life. By that I mean, after Norah goes to bed at 8 I either watch trashy reality TV, watch girl movies, or play BioShock on the x-box. I know, that's a pretty tame single life. Maybe tonight I'll jazz things up a bit and drink some tequila while playing my video game. Even though my single life activities are less than exciting, I've been staying up too late. So this morning when my doorbell rang at 8:30, I was still deeply asleep and brushed off the ringing as part of a dream. Or one of those pesky hallucinations. I did the same thing yesterday when Jasmine called me. I heard the phone, thought it was an alarm and pushed whatever button my finger touched first. I think I hung up on her. Then when I woke up I couldn't remember if it was real or not.
When the doorbell rang for the second time I knew it was in real life. I went cautiously to the door, not expecting anyone and still partially asleep, and heard two men's voices. Even though I had no clue who it was, was a little freaked out by the two men standing at my door, and was woefully unarmed, I opened the door. Clearly I would be the first idiot to be killed off in a slasher film.
They were the AC repair-men! Come to fix our coil! Not to kill me! I was not wearing a bra! They apologized for not calling but they did not have my phone number, and they explained that they just needed to get into the garage to get to the attic.
I hate it when repair-people are at my house. I feel so jumpy, like I can't go to the bathroom because as soon as I sit down they will knock on the door and immediately need to know why the ferber box and the raspyclack are switched and turn off all the lights quick before your house blows up! And there I am, on the pot.
So I'm sitting here, listening to them in my attic while I write about them on the internet. And let me tell you, replacing a coil may sound easy enough, but it must be some seriously hard business. Every few minutes I hear some loud crashes and bangs that sound like things falling down stairs. I've heard lots of stomping and pushing and just now one guy said "Where's the glue!?!" ...Is my air conditioner held together with glue?
All I've got to say is, if those guys are up there using the old "Replacing the Coil" cover-up but are really stealing my giant tubs of endless pink baby clothes I am going to be seriously ticked off.