Honestly it's been worse in LA. But with temps in the 80's and no air conditioner there's only so much a fan can do. Feels like it's just spitting regurgitated sweat air at you. I was hoping My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I could get out on bikes for a little exercise and cooler temps at the beach this weekend but my podiatrist put the "No" on that. Damn surgery.
Speaking of air conditioning, I have this weird thing about using the air conditioner in the car. In anyone else's car I don't give a shit. Crank that thing up. But in my own car, you better roll your window down. I don't really know where this quirk came from though I think it's somehow rooted in the fact that I've never, EVER owned a new car let alone one in the same decade. I suppose running the air conditioner felt like a luxury that every car just couldn't take, otherwise it would break down. Each time I attempted to flip the switch, the engine and car would shutter and run funny and you could visibly see the gas meter going down. A car's air conditioner may have nothing to do with gas consumption or the way the engine runs but in my mind those things are associated and cemented.
I said roll your window down earlier because that's exactly what anyone would have had to do in my first car, a 1972 Chevy Chevelle. I got "Beast" not long after I got my license at 16. Beast got the nickname Beast because that car was fast and volatile. 350 V8, 4 barrel carburetor with a high lifting cam. Caramel interior with a red exterior, just like a caramel apple. It even had the original air conditioner. Which of course didn't work. While Beast had an awesome engine and looked pretty that God damn car was a pain in the ass and unpredictable at best. Overheated constantly, broke down frequently. Even caught fire once! No joke. To try to keep Beast from overheating I would run the fan on high, which partially sucked the hot air off the engine and blew it into my face inside the car. I'm pretty sure the carbon monoxide from Beast has taken a few years off my life.
My next car was my Grandmother's gold hand me down 1985 Buick Somerset. Nothing screams eligible bachelorette like a ghetto paradise mid-80's Buick. She called it her "bread and butter". Not only did it look like a stick of pimped out butter but it's what she drove to work at McDonald Douglas everyday until she retired, earning her her daily bread and butter. By the time I got the car it had a million miles and the headliner was sagging due to years of my Grandmother smoking in the car. Not long after driving it the power window on the drivers side stopped working followed by the transmission losing fourth gear. And do you think once I lost the power window that I ran the air conditioner? You bet your ass I didn't. There was still the passenger's side window. It was sentimental loss more than anything the day a flatbed came to take Grandma's bread and butter away.
My next and current car is a tank. Not literally but figuratively. The most beat up but hard working and best running car I've ever had, a 1994 Toyota Corolla. Also a hand me down from my ex-fiance. He bought it as a commuter car while we were dating, as he was living in Los Angeles and I was in Costa Mesa. It wasn't long until I moved in with him in LA. After things fell apart and he moved to the East Coast for work, the tank became mine. Over the years people have hit it, scratched it...but I still love it. It's got a silver paint job with what I imagine used to be dark grey interior. Due to sun bleaching it's now an amazingly bad purple-brown color. Did I mention it has almost 300,000 miles? Yeah, it has almost 300,000 miles and I've barely put any money into it that wasn't standard maintenance. It just won't die (knock on wood). It's not sexy and sure at times, when I started dating someone new, I felt humbled and embarrassed about my classy as fuck ride. But that car is a work horse and actually fun to drive, so I stand by it. I don't want to make it harder on my little tank by throwing on the air conditioner. I can hear the engine work harder and shudder every time I turn it on because someone else is in the passenger seat complaining and sweating. Will my 4-banger give up the ghost with a perfectly good, fully charged air conditioner? Probably.
But I don't give a shit. I'm going to power my windows down, throw on my shades, and bask in my own discomfort and sweat. All because I'm weird and I've got quirks.
What's your weird quirk(s)?
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