Heat Wave Hell

It all started on a Friday morning, a day that will forever be etched into the annals of my personal hell.

The AC began its death rattle, an apocalyptic sound that jolted me from my half-dead morning state.

Panic set in. I called the property management company, and they dispatched a man named Zeke from Zeke’s AC Repair. This guy was a real piece of work, let me tell you.

Zeke showed up like a bat out of hell, tires squealing through my neighborhood like a bad action movie chase scene. The scent of booze wafted from his van before he even stepped out.

Yes, Zeke reeked.

He stumbled out of his vehicle, all bravado and bullshit, ready to tackle the beast that was our AC unit.

He banged around for a bit, replaced the capacitor and motor, and voila! The AC roared to life.

Zeke, satisfied with his handiwork, strutted off into the sunset like a cowboy who just saved the town.

But a couple of hours later, the AC quit again, spitting out that familiar death knell.

Zeke returned, this time with less swagger and more annoyance.

He fiddled with the connector, declared it fixed, and vanished again. Fast forward a few hours, and the AC was dead.

It was now evening, a sweltering Sacramento evening, and Zeke was at home, likely nursing another bottle. He couldn’t come back until the next day.

We were stuck in a house that was 93 degrees upstairs and 83 downstairs.

The living room became our makeshift refugee camp, fans blowing like futile sentinels against the inferno. We killed some time shopping and eating dinner, hoping to escape the worst of it, but the heat followed us like a bloodhound.

That night, we slept on the couch, tossing and turning in a pool of sweat.

Saturday morning, Zeke reappeared, this time with a grim look. The motor was bad, he said, but he couldn’t replace it until Monday.

Monday? Was he high? It was going to hit 115 degrees that day.

He offered a temporary fix: spraying the unit with cold water every time it shut down. So, my weekend was spent babysitting an overheating AC unit, playing sprinkler technician to keep the damn thing running.

It worked, sort of. Until, of course, the power went out. Half of our development plunged into darkness on the hottest night of the year.

We were left to choose between roasting in our house or sitting in the car like some of our neighbors. We opted for the car, eventually finding solace in a late-night movie.

When the power finally came back on at 1:49 AM, the AC kicked on again, but the reprieve was short-lived.

Sunday was another day of cooling the unit, keeping it limping along.

Monday arrived, and I had to drag myself to the soul-sucking day job while Zeke, that drunk bastard, showed up to install a new motor.

But, of course, the AC was still broken.

I left work early, enraged and sweating, to find that nothing had changed. I called Zeke, who was now fed up and treating me like it was my fault.

He said it could be a bad motor… Again. He’ll fix it tomorrow.

So Tuesday came and he came back, got the motor then left to get another new motor. He came back replaced it and told me its fixed then left.

That didn’t work… again.

I called zeke. He was pissed off.

Clearly tired of me and my AC unit Zeke comes back.

He couldn’t figure it out, so he decided to give up.

Just like that, I give up. He said Don’t call me again after this.

He took out the new motor, put the original broken one back in, and left me with nothing.

I couldn’t even use his workaround now because the motor didn’t work at all.

I called the property management company, and they promised another guy would come.

This new savior didn’t show up until 3:30 PM, by which time my house was turning into a sauna.

He muttered about needing to get approval and write an estimate. Blah, blah, blah. He promised to come back on Wednesday.

It’s Wednesday at 7am and here I am, typing this from a couch that has become my bed, my back a knot of pain and my mood darker than ever because I have to go to the soul-sucking day job after getting very little sleep.

If this new guy doesn’t fix the AC today, I swear to God, there will be hell to pay.

Living through the hottest heat wave on record in Sacramento with a broken AC is a special kind of torment, one I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Stay safe, Stay cool and remember .. Fuck Zeke.

Mikey