Via Sippican Cottage

It was (and still is) hot as hell in the Garden State. It started yesterday and, of course, that’s when Mr. Central Air Conditioner decided to stop working. Because I cannot stand this kind of heat (I get panicky – no kidding), I called the company first thing this morning. I had to punch in the “emergency” number. The guy on the road promptly returned my call and asked if we had purchased the unit from his company. Fortunately, we did, so he was at the House by the Parkway (North) within an hour (bless his heart). Had it been otherwise, I think we would have been relegated to “tomorrowland.”

He apologetically told me, up front, that there would be a two-hour minimum charge (emergency, holiday, etc.), which was fine with me. After about fifteen minutes he had the thing up and running. Turns out that grass and other lawn debris had clogged the vents on the unit, thereby tripping the safety switch (a bigass switch mounted to the house behind the unit), so he popped open the fan portion of the unit, hosed out the gunk, then flipped the safety switch. Done!

Cool air. Eureka!

Yes, it was a big bill, but, under the circumstances, I would have gladly paid more. I was reminded of the joke about the plumber who shows up in response to a homeowner’s call about a clogged sink. The plumber comes into the house and whacks the pipe, and the clog goes away. The plumber hands the homeowner a bill for $300.00. The homeowner, astonished at the amount of the bill when all the plumber did was whack the pipe, demanded that the plumber itemize the bill. The plumber obliged and handed a bill to the homeowner that said, “$5.00 for hitting the pipe; $295.00 for knowing where to hit.”

I will do my best to sear this day into my memory and dredge it up in January when the air is so cold that it freezes the inside of your nose.