I grew up surrounded by air conditioners. In every house and apartment, every workplace, every store, every car. Screw global warming. It's fucking hot down here!
North Florida is considerably cooler in the wintertime, but, in the summertime, it's just as hot here as it is in Central Florida where I grew up. One of the many things I had to adjust to after my move to New York was the fact that air conditioners never come standard there. Although temperatures there reach into the 110s in the summertime, air conditioning is still considered a luxury that must be purchased separately.
I say all this to say that my air conditioner started blowing outdoor-temperature air two nights ago and that two nights is all I can take. I know it's only April, but it's already well into the 90s during the day here. This thermostat reading shows the temperature in my apartment at 11 p.m. last night:
The first thing I did when I got to work this morning was call my landlord to see about getting it fixed. It's a new central heat and air unit, and he doesn't seem too happy about having to go take a look at it. He sounded suspicious, almost like he thought I had something to do with it not working. Please! I'm spoiled rotten where air conditioning is concerned. You would be, too, if you lived down here.
Update: 10:30 a.m. EST. My landlord has been out to my place. The problem isn't some kind of cutoff switch near the compressor like he first suspected. Time to call in the big guns - and pay the big bucks!
Update: It's 7:45 p.m. There's a zero percent chance of rain, and it's a cool 74 degrees.