it's getting hot in here

As luck (or karma or coincidence or whatever you want to believe in) would have it, our air-conditioning broke on the hottest weekend of the year thus far. Awesome. We have been unable to sleep, sticky, smelly, sluggish and sick of it. On top of that, we have company – my big sis and her lovely 8-year old daughter, visiting us (er, let’s face it, visiting bumblebee) from the languid, moderately-temped left coast. We are melting. We are also trying to make the very best of it and not complain, spending our days mostly outdoors, where the temperature rivals that in the house, but at least the air is circulating. Kinda. Anyway, the point is, even tho I am semitic, have spent a year in the middle east and generally can’t get enough of summer, I have not been loving this. Really, it’s that I do not want my sis, my neice, and most of all, my babe, to be uncomfortable. Bumblebee has had a hard time sleeping, which means that we’ve had a hard time sleeping, but really I just care that she has had a hard time sleeping.

It’s not as bad as the first summer that me and my man were together. I was living in a third-floor apartment in the heart of chinatown, and he was pretty much living with me (he had his own place but was seriously there so little that he didn’t even know one of his roommate’s name). It was stinky at the best of times (chinatown basically being one huge, rotting produce market), but that summer was beyond the pale. We would lay in bed at night, window open at the head, fan blasting at the foot, praying for death to take us so that we could finally get some sleep. Our weekend was not that bad. But something had to be done.

So, I finally find someone who says that he can be there Sunday morning. Awesome, I say, see you then. Sunday morning comes and goes. Sunday afternoon goes by – whole family arrives for a bbq – we spend all of our time on our shady back porch. Lovely, but where’s the guy? Sunday night comes and goes. Monday comes, I do a bunch of stuff, and goes. Tuesday morning shithead calls and says he can be there at 11. cool. Since he seems to be the only ac tech in the whole city available, I sit in my sweltering pad and wait. 11 comes and – wait! I think he’s here, my knight in a wrap-around tool belt! It’s him! He’s coming up the front stairs! I open the screen door –

And just as he shoves a business card in my hand, bar his entrance.

You must think that I’m loco or that the heat has melted the few post-natal brain cells that I have left. But, I had good reason. ‘ I forgot to ask how much you charge.’
He replies, ‘$90 and hour.’ Cool, a good rate. ‘ok,’ I say, ‘starting now, right?’ I’ve done my homework, been told the deets by more than one sweaty ac guy that couldn’t make it out until two months from Tuesday.
‘nope,’ this joker tells me, ‘starting half an hour ago when I left my last job. And it took me 15 minutes to find parking. I had to park one street over.’

shock and awe, people, shock and awe.

‘do you expect me to pay for you to find parking?’ I am bewildered by the suggestion.

I am more bewildered by what happens next: dude grabs his business right out of my hand, turns and marches off, presumably back to his car, a street over, with a growl.

I cannot believe it. Can you believe it? Sis, who saw the whole thing, could not believe it. Friend, who recommended the jackass, could not believe it. Hubby, mother, mother-in-law, several friends, a couple of neighbours and the guy at my local convenience store couldn’t believe it, either. Now, I can be bitchy, but trust me, this was unprovoked. My tone of voice had been surprised, but not unfriendly. Balls, as my friend would say.

So anyway, the big corporate gas distribution company has now won out over the independent, and our ac problem will be, at the very least, diagnosed on Thursday. I will continue to be bitter about this episode for a while longer. If you are ever in need of an ac tech, let me know. I have a guy that you should absolutely never call over pain of rudeness, and I would be happy not to give you his number.

Nighty-night.

What comes after two straight days of rain in Toronto?
Monday.