Icebox

I recently moved, which was a blessing after having lived with my mother and stepdad for the past several years after involuntarily relocating to Las Vegas and being unable to find a decent job despite my (useless) master’s degree. My biggest issue with the living situation—aside from the no privacy thing—was the no air conditioning thing.

Yes. You read that correctly. Las Vegas. The heart of the desert.

And no a/c.

Well, they have a/c but choose to keep the house at a toasty 85 degrees to preserve the life of the unit, but never mind preserving the life of the humans in the house.

Oh, and the vent in my room didn’t work. At all. So, during the ridiculously fiery desert summers, I had several fans, two of those as-seen-on-TV Arctic Air “air conditioners” that worked if your face was pressed up against the actual unit, and a redneck swamp cooler constructed of a cooler, PVC pipe, and a fan. Every night I had to lug ice into my room, dump it in the cooler, and then drain it every morning. When buying ice became too expensive, I started making my own ice blocks. Thank goodness I didn’t have to brave frigid winters because I’m sure that constructing a fire pit in the heart of my room would have been a no-go.

While I am, indeed, extremely thankful that they let me stay as long as I did, now I have my own space: a charming little house on the outskirts of town so I can pretend I don’t actually live in Las Vegas. And air conditioning. THAT I DON’T HAVE TO PAY FOR. Yes sirree, it’s included in my rent.

The first night I was here, I set the thermostat at 60 degrees. I awakened in the middle of the night shivering with icicles protruding from my nostrils. And of course, instead of adjusting the thermostat to prevent hypothermia like a normal person, I simply grabbed more blankets.

I have since found a happy compromise between sweat and pneumonia.

“Marry an outdoors woman. Then if you throw her out into the yard on a cold night, she can still survive.” ~ W. C. Fields

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