We New Yorkers just survived a two-day stretch of unbearable, humid heat. We topped 100 degrees and on the third floor in my building with no AC I’m quite sure the temperature in my apartment was about at 115. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it was really fucking hot. So hot in fact that I slept with ice packs under my arms and frozen bandanas around my ankles and neck. I’m not kidding.
See, I kind of have a problem with AC. Especially window units. They’re terrible for the environment and suck up precious energy. They’re also a godsend to cranky New Yorkers whose homes, once a place of peace, rest and tranquility have been transformed into death traps of thin air and sleep deprivation. I’ve got 5 years in this city without AC and I’m starting to cave. I actually walked into a PC Richards and Sons to look at units. I’ve debated about returning the fan I purchased at Bed Bath and Beyond citing that it failed to do it’s job at cooling me off in hopes of putting the refund money towards an AC, with my fun 20% off coupon and my sad, puppy dog eyes.
Summers in NYC are notoriously brutal. The mind-boggling heat coupled with the trash that smells to high heaven, not to mention the New Yorkers that smell to high heaven. The waiting for the subway in a station that rivals the Sahara just to get on a train who’s AC isn’t working. It makes us cranky, rude, and quite inhospitable. In fact, I’d go as far as to assert that those with the opinions that New Yorkers are rude probably visited New York City in the summer when we are, quite frankly, rude-ass mother fuckers who could give two shits about you and your need to get to Bloomingdales.