LJ Archive - 05/2005 : Babies and HVAC

(originally posted May 2005)

Anna was supposed to start her half-day office schedule yesterday, but Bethany must have inherited my psychic powers and sensed this, because she promptly managed to get sick for the first time. Witnessing her struggling to inhale, her nose plugged with mucous fuckin' concrete that refused to yield to repeated proddings of the miniature turkey baster, I was intrigued.

To wit: there’s one good Darwin Award entry in any major metro newspaper on any given day, but watching her, I truly marvel at Humanity’s survival and progress as a species. I mean really, at her age, any one of us is only so much zoo cuisine. What moved me, however, was her determination to get at least one laugh out, despite her propensity to cough instead.

Fortunately the pediatrician said she was merely atop the apex of the common cold’s bell curve, and yesterday would likely be the worst. So, playing the role I signed up for, I called the day in so Anna could make her own meeting. And surprisingly, it went well… Bethany played, napped, and ate mostly as normal, and planted just one biblically proportionate diaper bomb this time - God, she’s such a sweetheart! And today she was doing well enough that we both were able to go to work.

The rest of yesterday, however, was spent trying to exorcize the tortured, moaning soul that has taken residence in our home’s HVAC system.

Now really, I don’t mind a healthy side of personality from my cooling vents - it beats the babbling of suirrels most any day - but a monotone of “ffrrrmm vummm vummm vummm” peppered with a maddeningly random “woarm woarm woarm NONGONGONGON!” gets pretty fucking old at 3 AM. So out came the tools and a crystalline hope that I didn’t get my friggin' eyebrows seared off by a fireball of backpressure like the last time I went in there…

Seems that McWheezy the Blower and Humpy the Motor were just not groovin’ a sweet mechanical vibe anymore. To make matters more complicated, Asswipe DeCrackinfill, the ductwork insulation, decided to screw getting blasted in the face. 33 years of putting up with conductors who can’t make up their friggin’ minds will do that, I guess. But they were weak, pathetic little miscreants who trembled at the thought of getting their nuts twisted with a torque wrench. So take that, bitches, and enjoy this patch of duct tape shoved up your arse to keep the air where it belongs, too!

Unfortunately, the Moaning Soul, whilst intimidated at first, sneakily encored with a taunting whisper later on. The McWheezy, Humpy, and Asswipe Trio was still in lockstep harmony however, so a renewed flogging would only have whipped the whole works into a crescendo of (in no guaranteed order) screeching, banging, cursing, beer, oil, shovels, baseball bats, flames, flaming timbers, policemen, straightjackets, etc... I’m fairly certain the final movement would have been dramatic though, what with the screaming and the brick-throwing and the wife beating me senseless… Yeah. Ever get clocked by an iron skillet? Neither have I. So going back to that survival of humans thing… wasn’t that nice?

This kind of exorcism requires a permit and a really big gun, and I’m not talking about a potato cannon either. In times like this I need to remember that it’s not all shame and stupidity for paying rent: let the landlord deal with it.

And then get Bethany to burp on him.