Last Friday (almost 8:30 pm): An emergency ad-hoc meeting was called by the people in my house, which of course includes our almost ten year old chocolate lab. Earlier in the day the temperature outside where we live was well over 100. I concluded that given that temperature, of course it was going to be hotter than normal inside. So hot, I decided to put on my bathing suit and tie up my already soaking wet hair moistened from sweat on the back of neck, later that afternoon. After dinner, I decided to check the thermostat to see what the temp was inside. Eighty-five degrees. Then I instantly knew: the air conditioning was broken. Panic set-in. It was after dinner on a Friday night. Getting a repair to come out then would impossible. I let everyone in the family know. Decisions needed to be made. Do we call one of those 24-hour AC repair companies or do we wait until Saturday and get our regular honest and trusty guy to come out? It was decided, with me casting the dissenting vote, to wait for repairman to come on Saturday. Meanwhile it was 85 degrees inside, like I said. After doing a walk-through, I determined that there was no room in the house cool enough for me to sleep in. So I decided to camp out. On our back patio. Sleeping on a roll-away single bed. Just me and the moon and the stars and hopefully, no coyotes. That’s right I slept outside. Alone. And I liked it. Big surprise to me.
Saturday: I woke up at sunrise, which would have made it about 5:30 am. I was tired, but at least I wasn’t hot. So, our AC guy comes, changes out the fuse that blew, determined that additional repair work needed to done, but it could wait until later on in the week. At least the damn thing was running again. However, four hours later the temperature inside was still 84 degrees. We still had a problem. It was the hottest day of the year in LA. Then I lost it. Literally. I informed Harry he had exactly one hour to get the house cooler or I was going to a hotel. He could stay or come with me, but in one hour I was going to a hotel. Not some friends’ or relative’s house. But a hotel. I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: fix the AC or I was out of there. Harry knew I was serious. So he called the our AC guy and then, at cost of over $500 (more than a night or two at a hotel) we solved the problem, at least temporarily (see the picture above). And may the force be with you all.