Yesterday night I returned from one of the longest weeks of my life. I was dogsitting for an aunt in a godforsaken suburb (I will write about this shortly), and she had neglected to reveal the true nature of her dogs as hellions disguised as fluffy, loveable creatures.
After a long, trafficky, exhaust-filled drive home, I pulled into my apartment complex and climbed the stairs. I was looking forward to a short but refreshing nap in my own delicious bed, curtains drawn and fan whirring. I was sleep-deprived and my cheeks were hot and dry from the weather and dehydration.
I unlocked the door and I had to lean hard into it to force it open, because it was sticky with disuse and humidity. The air smelled stale, and I ditched my belongings on the living room floor and walked over to turn on the ac. I turned on last week's TAL episode and started unpacking my things.
An hour later, I realized it wasn't getting any cooler. It was too hot to sleep, so I took a cool shower. When I got out and started drying my hair, I started sweating so much that the shower seemed pointless. My bangs, which had been cut too-short the day before, curled against my forehead and any makeup I tried to put on ran off my face in rivulets. I went back and checked the thermostat. It was holding at a steady 87 degrees.
I went out for dinner and a few beers with Lori and her boyfriend, and when I got back around ten it still seemed hot. It was still 87 degrees. I could hear the ac unit running, so I was still thinking that maybe it was just taking a long time for my apartment to cool off given the extreme temperatures outside.
I slept in my underwear, on top of the covers, with my fan on full speed, and I was still sweating. I got up and checked the thermostat; it had finally cooled down to about 78 degrees, which is not much warmer than where I usually keep it when I am home. But by 9:00, when I got up after a night of dreams in which I was suffocating and suffering from strange diseases, the temperature had crept back up to 85 degrees.
This is when I knew I had a problem.
Where I live, ac is not a luxury; it is a necessity. In the hottest months of the summer, the city sets up shelters for people who cannot afford to pay their electric bills or fix their units. The heat here right now is like a natural disaster, with heat indexes that make 100 degrees look pleasant. People don't even go swimming except at night.
I went to the grocery store and left a message for my apartment management. When I got back it was up to 90 degrees, even with the sunlight blocked by my heavy curtains. I called the management again and unpacked my groceries. Then I found a fruit smoothie I had made and frozen and sat on the couch to eat it with a spoon. It was too hot to read, so I just sat there and thought. Lolo called me twice and I ignored his calls.
Around noon I was bored and a little hungry, and I wandered into the kitchen to see if there was anything appetizing. I remembered I had bought a bar of dark chocolate at the store and decided to eat a square of it. It was sitting on the kitchen counter. When I went to open it I discovered that the bar was squishy and melted all the way through. Disgusted, I threw it into the fridge.
At last my salvation came, in the form of my
BFF maintenance guy. When I opened the door he said, "Hey girl, how you been!?" as if we were long lost amigos. He asked me if I liked living in my new apartment, and then he said, "So where is your friend? She got married?" I said that she had. He said, "You got a lot of stuff in your closet?" I opened the door to show him and he said, "Oh, you have to move some of that."
So as I was tossing empty bags and boxes onto my bed he asked, "So when are
you going to get married?" I laughed and said, "Oh, I don't know..." He said, "Well, I guess you need a boyfriend first, right?" And I said, "Yeah, I actually have one of those." I didn't tell him that I probably wouldn't have one of those for much longer.
He screeched, "What!? You do!? But I thought you didn't. I never see you with a boy, you know?" I responded as I squeezed around him to deposit another load of closet crap on the bed, "Oh, yeah, he comes around sometimes..."
Then he said, "Oh, well, you still have time, right? You're young, right? Like 20?" I laughed and said, "Um, not quite. I mean I'm 24." I looked up at him; he was frowning and looked confused. He said, "Oh, yeah, I guess you have a
little time then...I mean you have until you're like 30, maybe, I guess...but in ten years you'll be 34, you know? Don't you want kids?" He trailed off. "I'm 34," he said. I nodded and crossed my arms and walked into the living room. I turned on MSNBC, one of the only channels I get, and watched more Michael Jackson coverage as he worked. After a trip up to the roof he had my ac working again. He walked back in and said, "OH, it's freezing in here now. I might get hypothermia, you know? It's like Alaska in here, like where Sarah Palin lives."
And then I thanked him and he left, on his way to maintain other things, and maybe to tell other single girls that if they didn't want to vestir santos they better get on with things.