I Am Your Air Conditioner

I… am… your air conditioner.

I… am doing what I can.

This is my week.

This is my moment.

My lungs are as full as they are, and then they are as empty as they’ll ever be.

I’m trying; I’m trying.

This house, its rooms, all empty, and yet you  ask me, all day, to make them 72 degrees.

And I try, but where are you?

You are in another 72-degree-place, drinking coffee that is 100 degrees.  Give or take.

You see the men outside today, pouring the concrete and guiding the lawnmowers?  They are my yang.

I am yin.  I am air conditioner.

Is it just the cool you want?

No.

You ask dehumidification.  I don’t even know how that works.

Something happens inside me.  I take the moisture, I take it away.

Do you ask where it goes?

(Some of you watch TV shows on “the way things work.”  Some of you actually work for HVAC companies.  Or install HVAC yourself.  Apologies, comrade.)

You do not ask.

Any time, anyone, could open the door, and she could breathe.

As God intended?

I am your air conditioner.

I am your window unit.

I am sucking and blowing as fast as I can.

I know I am loud, but that is what it takes.  It takes the energy of a big, fat plug.  A special electrical connection.  That’s what I take.

Sit before me.  Feel better.

Or are you in a car, using yet another air conditioner?

I am a fan.  Come and pick me up at a particular address.  Haul me home on the bus.  I can help you blow the hot air around so it feels not at all better, but different.

I am your power grid.  I gotta go.

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3 thoughts on “I Am Your Air Conditioner”

  1. I am your lawyer, toiling away while you sleep.
    No, its not like television.

    The Trial is two weeks away now and I have to organize a few dozen document exhibits and prep my witnesses before I go back to the books for more authority to support our position.

    The Trial is one week away now and you have just called to say you remembered something that might possibly be important. The knot in my stomach is back as I try to stay calm while I explain how I asked you about that, three times a month ago, and you assured me nothing of the kind happened.

    Trial starts in one hour and I have to go to the bathroom one more time.
    The jury panel faces do not match my imagination after reading their questionnaires and I pray once again for wisdom and judgment. This is an inexact science. But I cannot let you or them see the anxiety on my confident face.

    The first day of Trial is over. Only as I leave the Courthouse do I realize my legs are shot from tension and leaping up to OBJECT! I have to eat before trying to plug the dikes from the shotgun blasts in our case created by the opposition. It is so hard to know when to compromise between needed rest and essential further preparation.

    The second day of Trial will start in 15 minutes and opposing counsel asks for a word. I grind my teeth as a proposed compromise is suggested, that would have worked a month ago, but we now have a terrible investment in hours spent and billed. And you tell me perhaps this is a better deal than rolling the dice, because, while hearing that last witness, you remembered some other unhelpful facts.

    An hour later I am leaving the Courthouse and you are explaining that, unfortunately, this settlement will not be enough to pay my fees at once, because your wife really needs a bigger motorhome for this summer and you promised. How many months would it take to pay this at $200/month, you ask. I am thinking about how many thousands of dollars the premium is on my malpractice insurance due next week. They allow monthly payments too, but in much larger amounts.

    I remember the Curve of Gratitude I learned about years ago. You love me during the crisis and the calculation of a plan to make things right, but quickly after there is a resolution, you think, this was not so difficult a case after all — I could probably have worked out a deal on my own. All lawyers do is pick up a legal pad and do some talking and expect a fortune from us hardworking people. Our pain is their gain.

    Soon someone will suggest to you that, if you claim I forgot something important or failed to return one of your many phone calls for two days, then this malpractice must have been the reason your settlement was so small. It a sure thing, they tell you, the lawyers always back down and write off the debt.

    My phone is ringing right now, I see your number. Should I pick it up?

    1. Thank you for another view of someone perhaps unappreciated. I hope all the lawyers have good air conditioning.

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