There is a belief that the heart of a home is the kitchen.
While that is true to a degree because of all the delicious life-giving goodies that come out of that room, the fact of the matter is that the heating and cooling system is the heart of the home. The kitchen is more like the pancreas that excretes life-giving gravies and juices that convert the food we eat into fuel for the body’s cells.
So, now that we have the home’s organs appropriately identified, on Sept. 12 at roughly 8:10 p.m., our home had a heart attack.
While sitting in the backyard with friends, roughly 30 feet from our air conditioner, a loud popping sound was heard accompanied by a bright flash of light.
Incredibly startled by the event and knowing that this would probably result in an expensive repair, I grabbed my chest and began sweating profusely.
“Oh my gosh!” the wife said to our friends. “What in the world was that?”
After conferring several minutes amongst themselves, our friends said, “We think your AC crapped out.”
This statement made my left arm go numb and my respiration increase. I slumped over in my chair and put my head between my knees. All the while my wife and friends continued chatting, oblivious to my predicament.
“Can you believe this?” the wife complained. “It’s the hottest day of the summer. How am I going to sleep tonight in a house with no air conditioning?”
“Oh, you poor thing,” our friends consoled. “We just happen to have a list of affordable area hotels that have AC AND free Wi-Fi so you can search the web for repairmen.”
“FABULOUS!” the wife said. “I’ll book a room.”
Realizing that my infarction was going unnoticed, I groaned in agony and rolled onto the floor.
Looking at me with some confusion and after conferring amongst themselves our friends said, “Is something wrong with him?”
“Pay no attention to the husband,” the wife said. “He always gets so dramatic whenever something happens that requires a repairman. He has a very low threshold for panic. Let’s just step over him and go into the house and check the thermostat.”
After the wife clarified that I was OK, I got up and followed them into the house to confer with the thermostat.
As suspected, there was no pulse. The AC was DOA. The heart of our home had stopped.
“How old is your furnace and AC?” our friends asked.
“Oh, about five or six years old,” the wife said.
“Closer to 20,” I corrected. “Does anyone have a nitro pill? Having palpitations…”
Once again conferring amongst themselves our friends said, “You’re probably going to need a transplant.”
“You mean a new furnace and AC?” I said thumping my chest to begin my own CPR.
More conferring by the friends, “Um… Yes.”
So, the next day I began the process of finding the right heating and cooling contractor to do the job. After getting several quotes the following week, I selected a fine company who did an excellent job putting the heart back into our home with the brand of equipment that I wanted.
“Ahh,” the wife said when the new air conditioner started up. “That feels marvelous. The heating and cooling guys have saved my life. Oh, by the way, here’s the invoice for the new furnace and AC…”
Chest pains … shortness of breath … arm going numb … loss of bodily fluids…
Raul Ascunce is a columnist for the Bowling Green Sentinel-Tribune, a sister newspaper of The Lima News within AIM Media.