Air Conditioning

Me, My Air Conditioner, and Dave

It’s that time again. It’s that time of year when I can’t help but look at my pasty white skin in the mirror and ask why. Looking at this map of the world and the skin colours that occur in different regions, I seriously question the logic of colonialism. I am the whitest person I know, what the hell am I doing in here? How did my ancestors think they could live in Canberra? Air conditioning is the only way I can make it through the summer, but that only works when I’m indoors. Of course, at this point, I only work when I’m indoors. The second I step outside into the blistering inferno that is the ‘burbs in plus-thirty degrees, you can visibly see my skin change colour. One minute, it’s that usual pasty hue, never mind, I have become a lobster. Not that looking like a lobster is bad per se, just that I really do prefer to look like a human.

The other thing with any wonderful technology, such as the air conditioner, is that it is liable to break down. By breaking down, I really mean that it refuses to cool my house to ten degrees on a daily basis (it leads a bit of a tough life). So over the summer, the air conditioner repairs men in Canberra have become my biffles. I mean me and Dave are tight. There’s also the fact that I’m paying them to come to me … but I try not to dwell on that. Mostly I like to think of Dave and myself as two friends who have an unhealthy obsession with my air conditioning. I guess I’m just going to have to use and abuse Dave to make it through this awful time of year.

Note to self: plan a trip to Europe / America / the Northern Hemisphere in general next year.