At exactly 2am last night the ancient industrial air conditioning unit that’s about 12 inches from where I sleep started spewing smoke and flames. I mean, it has been running on high non-stop since February, so I guess I shouldn’t have been suprised by this violent uprising. But I bolted awake to see what looked like a jumbo sparkler whizzing and popping from beneath the machine, and immediately started screaming FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! while running for the door. Poor Husband leapt from the other side of the bed, unable to see the fire-breathing a/c but alarmed by the smoke and my screaming. By the time we both collided, there was a crackling POP and then darkness: the beast had exploded and fizzled out.
We took a moment to collect ourselves. Did that really just happen? Is there any damage? Did Husband believe that I was running for the fire extinguisher, and not to save my own ass?
The next morning we were greeted by a very nonchalant maintenance guy who didn’t seem concerned in the least by the fact that I seem to be plagued by blood-thirsty household appliances wherever I go. Apparently the motor burned out in the middle of the night. No biggie. Happens all the time.
I’m not sure why exactly that would happen all the time. But I can tell you this: I am actually excited for the cold smoggy weather to roll in so I can turn the damn things off for a few months.
Unlikely Diplomat 