The other day we decided it was time to turn on the air conditioning since three or four consecutive days of weather in the 70s (creeping towards and most certainly reaching well into the 80s in the sun) was forecast and our house is not entirely well-suited for open windows and cross-ventilation. So, I adjusted the program to change the times and desired temperatures for the air conditioning. See, last year, I was in the as yet undiagnosed throes of menopause with no hormone replacement therapy and when I tell you that the air conditioning program reflected same – I’m talking 62 degrees at night! The program needed adjustments. Finished, I flipped the little trusty switch over to COOL.
The fan kicked on in the cellar and air started to trickle through the vents. There is a vent directly beneath the stool where I sit at my computer at the kitchen counter and I can feel the air on my toes. The air was, well, not cold. It wasn’t hot, but if I called it cool I’d be exaggerating its value. Time to call on “the man”. My man can do anything house-related. He’s a Super House-Hero. When something at the house goes awry, I muster up my damsel in distress voice and call out to my Super House-Hero and in no time at all (well, sometimes it’s quite a bit of time if he’s in the middle of an online poker tournament or in the bathroom or asleep on his chair or . . . well, you get the point), he lands by my side having donned his Super House-Hero tights and cape to save the day. [Note to self: do not conjure up remarkably clear visual images that you do not wish to carry with you for all the remaining days of your life.]
So, Marty had me turn the switch to OFF and then back to COOL while he stood outside by the big air conditioning box machine thingy (“compressor” I think it is). Not a peep. It sat silent. It had the unmitigated gall to sit there, all pomp and circumstance, obtrusively visible, arrogant on its concrete throne and do nothing. Nada. Nichts. Super House-Hero swiftly checked fuses and other obvious potential maladies. He then proclaimed it beyond his vast super powers.
We’d have to call a guy for this. I asked Marty if he has a guy. Marty always has a guy. Marty was born and raised on the Cape and he is in the trades. He’s got a guy for everything. If he doesn’t have a guy, he can get a guy from one of his guys. Marty had no guy. Imagine . . . an heretofore unfamiliar situation. No guy.
It just so happens that I have a friend who married this wonderful man a few years ago who owns a very successful HVAC business. I sent a text to my friend and in less than two minutes, I made arrangements for her husband to come over on Saturday to take a look at our air conditioning situation.
I’ve been here for 12 years and I have finally arrived.
I’ve got a guy for that.
Evolution Happens . . . 