For the first eighteen years of my life, air conditioning was a convenience that we most pitifully lacked. My dad, who was mysteriously stuck in the 1940s simply didn't see the need for such modern comforts. "Naw, we don't need it. Besides, air conditioning clogs my sinuses and we like that good, fresh mountain air at night. Don't we son?" he answered after another pitiful plea by me to at least get a good window unit. I did, sure enough, like the good, fresh mountain air. It's just that I would have preferred my fresh air to be a tad cooler that the 100 degree stagnant atmosphere that surrounded our home in the middle of August. My dad loved the mountains, so it was always mountains this and mountains that with him.
We had fans. Lots of fans. In fact, we had so many fans running that I figured that if we pointed all of them in the same direction, the house would have been blown from it's foundation. But, we did have mountain air. I swore that when I owned my own home, lying in bed in a puddle of sweat would be a thing of the past, mountain air or not.
I bought my first home at age twenty-four. The first thing I asked the realtor before I had even laid eyes on the home was, "does it have central air conditioning?"
"Of course. Who doesn't have central air these days?" he replied, with a puzzled look on his face.
I bought the house and lived in cool luxury for the next five years.
In those five years, my wife and I had gotten married and had our first child, Ryan. We also had been practicing for a second child when we decided that a larger home was in order.
"Does it have central air conditioning?" I asked the realtor, as he guided his car into the driveway of the home we were interested in.
"Uh, no it doesn't. Mr. Bradford is here and he can explain why they never installed air," came the sheepish reply. For me, a house without central air was a sure deal breaker. Mr. Bradford was the owner and had recently built a new house and needed to sell quickly.
The realtor introduced Kristi and I to Mr. Bradford and as one would expect, the questions began to flow freely from our mouths. "I see that the house doesn't have central air," I said.
"Naw, never needed it. Heck, with all these trees and the whole house fan upstairs, we just never needed it. The place stays very cool in the summer. Besides, we always liked the fresh mountain air at night," he said, with his hands in his pockets while staring at the floor. I was sure he had his fingers crossed inside those pockets. Apparently, he too was stuck in the 1940s.
"Maybe he's right," Kristi whispered. "The property is covered with trees. Besides, I LOVE this house!" she finished.
We moved into our house with no air conditioning in October of 2001, so the weather was beginning to cool and we didn't even entertain the thought of air conditioning, at least until the following summer.
"I'm roasting! I mean I'm melting!" Kristi bellowed from the kitchen one day after I had returned home from work. By that time, she was pregnant with our daughter, Sidney. She was a pitiful sight for sure. She was busy making dinner and with one hand, and with the other she was clutching the baby. Draped over her head was a soggy dishrag.
I immediately thought of my father and his mountain air, and also of Mr. Bradford and his blatant lie about fans, trees, etc. "OK, I'll see what I can do."
I was fortunate to work for a company that employed people of many talents. Several of those people were very good at heating and air installation. I hadn't been with the company very long, so I didn't know many people, but I asked around and sure enough got a good lead. "You need to ask Fred. He does great work and is very reasonable," one older fellow said. "He's retired now, but I can give you his number. I'm sure he'll be glad to give you an estimate."
I called Fred that evening. "Hi, this is Neil Fix. I work at Merck and was given your number about having central air conditioning installed in my home."
There was a brief silence and then he spoke. "Weeel, aye mebbee coyld take a leeetle grive roun there. Wheer ye aaat?" came his answer. For a moment, I wondered if I had Fred on the line or had possibly dialed the wrong number and called an Irishman who was trying to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"Uh, I'm looking for Fred Alderson. Are you Fred Alderson?" I asked.
"Heel yep, I's Freeeed. Wheer ye aaat?" he quipped, with a rising anger in his voice.
I was finally able to give him directions to our home and hung up the phone. "Well?" Kristi asked. She was holding Ryan and sweating profusely. The baby seemed content though.
"I could barely understand him. I mean, I think he's a mumbler or something. I couldn't understand a word he said."
"When's he coming?"
"Tomorrow morning, I think," I said, shaking my head and wondering if he was surely coming the next morning. "I'm telling you, it was like he was speaking Mandarin Chinese or something."
I got out of bed very early the next morning in anticipation of Fred's visit. I quietly crept downstairs and waited. And waited. And waited. Kristi had made the trip downstairs and stopped on the bottom step. "No Fred yet?"
"Nope, no Fred. But then again, he could have said he'd be here at nine, or seven. Who the heck knows. I couldn't understand him, it's like he had a mouth full of marbles."
After a half hour or so, I got up and walked out to retrieve the newspaper. To my amazement, an old truck was sitting in our driveway with an elderly gentleman fast asleep at the wheel! "What the..." I thought. I walked over to the truck and gently tapped on the window.
"Good morning! Can I help you?" I asked to the old fellow who had begun to stretch and roll the window down at the same time.
"Yeeeah, I'm Feeed Aldreson...been seeeetin 'er fer erver. Taught I toold yoo seeevin!" he growled. Again, I didn't understand but a few words, but surmised that he, sure enough, was Fred, the AC guy.
After a profuse apology by me, I led him into our home to survey the work that needed to be done. Finally, after crawling around in the attic, looking into every room, and a walk around of the entire house, he began to scribble something on a note pad. It was the estimate. "Figuuuud I'dee white it seezin ye don't undeestund pwain Enrish," he growled from his seat at our kitchen table. I looked at the estimate and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. His writing was WORSE than his speech! I motioned for Kristi to take a gander. She waddled over and looked for herself (remember, she was pregnant).
"Yes, Mr. Alderson, that will be just fine. When can you start?" Kristi said, as she glanced at me with a befuddled look and outstretched arms. With that, we thought he said he'd start the next day. Fred made his way to his truck and disappeared down the road. I thought he told me that he would reduce the cost if I helped him with the work, but then again, he could have told me that I had a snake crawling out of my ear and I wouldn't have known.
"How much is it? I mean, I can't even read his writing! It could be three thousand or maybe it's thirty thousand! Who knows?" I whined.
"Uh, it looks like, uh, maybe, uh... I don't know. Good grief that's terrible writing!" Kristi said, with strained eyes.
The next morning, I got out of bed even earlier than the day before. I pulled a lounge chair onto the driveway and waited. Soon, I heard the roar of Fred's truck. He drove onto our driveway and stopped in front of the garage and me. He opened the door of the truck slightly and spoke. "I saiyed eeyight, no seeevin." I glanced at my watch and noticed that sure enough the time was seven. I also noticed that Fred had shut his door, pulled his hat over his face and appeared to be asleep.
I folded my lounge chair and walked into the kitchen. Kristi was sitting on a chair sipping a steaming cup of coffee and reading the back of a cereal box. "Is Fred here?" she asked without looking at me.
"Yeah, he's here. He's currently asleep in his truck," I said, while simultaneously sliding a chair out to sit on.
"He's asleep on our driveway?"
"Yep, like a baby. Snoring and all,"
We both laughed and could not imagine how we wound up hiring an HVAC mechanic who suffered from insomnia and had an extremely poor command of the English language. Plus, he mumbled. "When should I wake him? Or should I wake him?" I asked my wife, who had risen from the table and was peering through the blinds at sleeping Fred.
"I guess maybe we should just let him wake up whenever he's ready."
Finally, Fred did wake up. He showed up at the front door with a tool belt around his waist ready to work. "If'n yoo heeelp mwe did wheel goo fasser," he mumbled while climbing the steps to the second floor of our house.
For the next three days, I helped Fred. Occasionally, he'd peek through a hole in the ceiling and ask for a hammer. I'd hand him a screwdriver. Sometimes, he'd need cable ties and I would hand him a hammer. Tinsnips? I handed him a socket set. Duct tape? I handed him his entire tool box. With each false move, I got an icy stare and I think he mumbled something about the younger generation not knowing a hacksaw from a horses a**. I knew the difference between a hacksaw and a horse's a**, if the person speaking to me spoke in an audible tone in my language. Mandarin Chinese mumblers need not apply.
Finally, after three days, and many trips by me to Fred's truck to retrieve the wrong tools, the air condition came to life. Despite an obvious and frustrating communication problem, Fred's morning naps, and my lack of knowing a hacksaw from a horse's a**, we had cool air circulating through the house.
The bill for Fred's work was very reasonable, although I wrote and tore up three checks before I finally understood how much we owed him. We've been enjoying our air conditioning for many years and I laugh when I think about Fred. I also call my mom and dad occasionally on very hot days to make sure they're OK. They are. "Oh, we're fine. Your dad just loves the mountain air at night," my mom will say without fail.
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