For some reason, Mack and I living somewhere is like the kiss of death for AC units. For some reason, they like to die in horribly drawn out and uncalled for ways. It is not like we crank our AC down to horribly frigid temperatures like my sister-in-law (who claims she keeps her house at 77F but I call b.s. and say it’s more like 50F). We like to keep it at a reasonable temperature of about 76F for the animals.

That is, of course, assuming we don’t anger the demi-gods known as the AC units.

Back when we were living in Phoenix, Arizona and going through The Move From Hell late last June (which I alluded to in many of my blog posts at the time but didn’t actually talk about for fear it’d make me cry) our AC decided to just stop working. Now, the things to really focus in the previous sentence are “Phoenix” and “late last June”. In case you have never been to Phoenix in late June let me tell you it is not an overall pleasant experience. Temperatures tend to reach about 120F during daylight hours which means your sweat likes to sweat to keep itself cool. Our apartment complex, already mad that we had the “eye sores” of the relocation cubes sitting outside (they did not care that the reason for the cubes being there for one extra day was a combination of me being so dehydrated I was throwing up, and an ER visit for a friend) they didn’t want to deal with our problem.

Oh yes, it was The Move From Hell.

By the time we finally left that apartment complex, we made sure to turn off electricity in our name so they’d not benefit at all (if they fixed the problem) as they fixed up the apartment for the next tenants.

Yes, we’ve vindictive, why do you ask?

Our current AC-hates-us situation has been a few months running. First, one of the staff members in our apartment complex isn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. She also, as it happens, is kind of afraid of me. This is in not the result of any mean action done by myself intentionally but rather that she does not get sarcasm. How I can’t function without being a smart ass? Needless to say, Emma (as I will call her) doesn’t like dealing with Mack (who is better about keeping his sarcasm in check) or myself.

Back in November, Mack noticed that our AC unit had this funny little problem of icing over. I’m not talking a fine sprinkling of frost that is easy to get off. No, I’m talking an inch thick of pure ice that requires a few hours to let it melt before you can attempt to use the AC again. Concerned, Mack called the front office and happened to reach Emma on the phone. Laughingly, Emma informed Mack that in situations like that you just, like, turn off the AC until it defrost and then it works again.

It’s like magic. And to her, it probably is.

As the temperatures in northern Florida reached down into the 30’s, the problem went to the back of our minds since we were more concerned about not freezing to death than having a nice cool breeze from the AC unit against our frozen bodies. As all weather eventually does, spring came and then summer temperatures and Mack, again, called the front office and luckily got someone who wasn’t Emma. Immediately maintenance came out and sure enough, something was wrong with our AC unit. WHY didn’t we tell them SOONER??

A month later we’ve had maintenance come out and stare at our AC unit and fix it for a period until a contractor came out to “really fix it” and by “really fix it” I mean re-create the problem we originally had.

So, party at our place. Bring your swimsuits since that is the only thing you will be able to wear without dying and trust me, we got plenty of ice we can break off our AC unit as we let it defrost.

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