Day 16 – The AC Tech

My AC has an undetectable leak. I’ve been delaying getting a new unit. For the last week, the AC was not working at full capacity, a basic need for me. I keep my apartment at 65°. Visitors regularly arrive equipped with heavy jackets, and I keep a supply of throws to spread around those shivering five minutes after arriving. A friend who keeps her heater on during the summer wears a skiing jacket, boots, and gloves. I think it’s a bit over the top, but if I’m sweating in the snow, who am I to judge someone who freezes midday in the Sahara? To me, Miami is like the Sahara.

Two days ago, I woke up to a frozen AC, the filter glued to it by the cold grip of icicles. The situation required turning off the AC, setting the fan on, and letting it defrost. Andy, my son-in-law, told me to keep it at 73°, the equivalent of 90° for anyone. I had to access all the fans stored in case a hurricane leaves the building without access to the AC, like what happened with Maria, when I had to wheel a portable AC all over the house to survive; I perspire just from remembering it. This was somewhat stressful: locked down to propitiate social distancing because of Covid-19, and no AC. I reminded myself millions have it worse: didn’t help as much as I hoped.

I called Angel’s AC, and he promised to stop by “in a couple of days:” that’s today! Earlier in the morning, my daughter taped a video acting out the steps for me to follow the moment Angel left. She means well, but sometimes I feel like a complete idiot after listening to her instructions: “make sure the mask is on tight” before going to throw out the trash. A quick walk around the hall to the chute becomes the equivalent of a Twilight Zone episode, I’m aware that the Twilight Zone is outside Gen X’ frame of reference, but what the heck. As I’m about to react to SM’s instructions, I pause and think that she’s a special education teacher, frequently acting as if the world is her classroom. I smile and proceed at my own pace: switching on the light, opening the door to the AC unit, and the front door so that Angel would not touch it, even though I would Lysol-spray it once he left.

My conversation with SM was underway when he knocked. She hurried to give me the last bit of to-do:

— SM: Make sure he wears gloves and a mask.

— IH: Ok… got to go, he’s knocking.

— SM: Make sure that you’ve got your mask on. Do you have it on?

— IH: I do! I have got to let you go!

I hung up and asked Angel to come in. He was neither wearing no gloves, and his sun-tanned wrinkled face was bare.

— IH: You’re not wearing a mask?

He smiled, evidently amused by my mask.

— A: No, don’t have one, can’t find any!

SM was not going to be happy when she learned that bit of information. My phone beeped to let me know I had a message. It was an instructional video on how-to-disinfect after Angel left; SM had produced and taped it in less than five minutes. Her Covid-19 and recycling creativity doesn’t cease to amaze me.

Angel worked diligently on the AC, injected R-22 refrigerant, and left. As soon as he stepped out, I Lysol-sprayed outside and inside the front door, all doorknobs, the AC unit, the doors to access the unit and the thermostat. I paused for a half-hour, soaked paper towels in Lysol to wipe everything down again. SM would approve.

Breathing deeply, I considered mixing a drink, even though it was merely 4 pm. I asked myself: “are you falling into the Covid-19 lockdown-alcohol trap? I fixed a cup of tea instead.