Leading into the day, it was accepted and/or assumed that it was going to be 105; a stark contrast from the 4th, but it's Summer...that's how it goes. Then Friday arrived.
Holy shit.
Shit.
You know when you open the oven to take out a pizza or whatever? Imagine that outside. Well, I wasn't imaging it, and it couldn't be that unusual. I've driven to Las Vegas in June, ate in Baker at sundown when the world's largest thermometer was triple digits. So...wait, is it me or is it getting hotter?
115
I tried to cool down inside, but the indoor temp kept rising, too. Well of course it is...you can't win this fight. It was around this time that I went briefly outside to watch the plants die that I noticed quite the problem: the AC wasn't moving...but the fan was on inside which means...HEY! This'll be fun to fix!
SHIT
Checking circuits, switching shit, waiting for a thunderbolt to fall from the sky to save me or impart me with knowledge...none of it arrived. Temperatures were rising HAHA
It was like no euphemism I can think of to get the caravan west to the beach in the evening. It wouldn't be repaired until tomorrow, so let's cool it down - even in the dark. No surprise that we weren't alone in that feeling, the San Diego Freeway busier than usual for a Friday night with plenty Happy Brakes out there...but I made it to the PCH and even the salt air was cooking. I slept like a fallen log.
I drove back to Heat City and the solace of my neighbor's, awaiting the repair man while everyone else sipped drinks in pools right and left.
Of course, it was very quickly fixed, I was given an education, gave the guy some extra cash (because I'm a compassionate man who also was very happy to have AC) and it was taco time. Didn't mean the house was cool yet, but after the updated supplies from Ralphs, I was reportedly found relaxing on the couch, Pacifico in koozie, watching the Dodgers give Anaheim a few pointers. (Ross Stripling is going to throw a...well, look at that, strike 3. Next?)
By Sunday morning everything was "normal" inasmuch it was "only" 98, but damn near 20 degrees cooler is damn near 20 degrees cooler. After a minute out of the pool, it was all I could do to amble home, look at my dead plants, and rationalize my life with "at least the beer is cold."
