It hurts every time, and since I’m from Canada, I have to convert the 90 degrees Fahrenheit to 32 degrees Celsius, and then it hurts again. It hurts me twice. That’s the penalty for dual citizenship.
People say you should go out and enjoy the sun, but all I do is sit in my apartment and think about how hot it is, drinking cold sugary drink after cold sugary drink. I treat the heat like it’s a chemical spill and the authorities have told me to stay inside until the worst is over. When the heat dissipates around 8 or 9 p.m., I slowly poke my head outside in my hazmat suit, making sure it’s clear. Then I fearfully run back inside and drink another Snapple (send me free Snapples!).
Look, I just don’t accept the sun for who it is. I like the sun’s light, because it helps me see things, but I don’t need any of that heat bullshit. It’s like when a famous actor only wants to talk about their new band, and not their movie career, which is what made them famous. If the sun could just focus on giving us light without making us sweat, I’d be way more into it.
How I long for the rain! Sometimes, when a person dies, it’s hard for loved ones to remember their face. That’s how I feel about the rain right now. I can’t remember what it looks like, and how it feels. I can picture clouds and faucets and umbrellas, but not the rain. It won’t come to me. Psychologists say it helps to picture a memory; yet, when I think of that rainy morning when I first learned to ride a bike, all I can see is fire.
There are those who say this is nothing, that there are parts of the country where it gets much hotter, and as usual, such points are useless. Do not ask me to take things into context when my eyes are burning from the dripping sweat on my forehead. I moved to Seattle because I loved the cool breezes blowing in off the water, which allowed me to only take one shower a day. In this heat, I’m up to four; five if I’m seeing a girl later.
Seattle just doesn’t look good with sun. It’s like how some guys can’t pull off a Hawaiian t-shirt (so many analogies). You see them wearing the Hawaiian t-shirt, trying to look all festive, and no one’s buying it. Well, I’m not buying the sun on you, Seattle (it’s weird that I’m addressing the whole city, as if anyone cares). The Space Needle looks better against a dark, grey sky, and Seattleites look better with flannel shirts and hoodies than with t-shirts and shorts. Or at least I do.
And so we’ve come to this: does anyone know where I can get an air conditioner? I can’t remember how to purchase an air conditioner. I’m looking for something about the size of a milk carton that blows cold air; not warm air, like a heater, and not steam, like a humidifier. I’m not making that mistake again. “It’ll get cold,” they told me. “Just give it time.” Liars!
What I really want is the most powerful air conditioner on the planet, but I’m not going to install it in my window. I’m going to attach it to a generator, and launch it at the sun, like that volcano scene in Star Trek Into Darkness. Yes, destroying the sun may cause all the plant and animal life on this planet to die, but at least it will be cool before we die. At least it won’t be 90.