The Heat Won't Fix Itself - Part 1
- I was on the phone having a pleasant one sided conversation with my Super.
“No, you shut up! Don’t tell me to shut up. The thermostat says 10 degrees.”
“Look, either you get the heat working again now, or I’m going to get the police involved. And believe me, I WILL suggest that they shoot you.”
“Are we clear?”
“No, You’re a dick.”
I pitched the phone against the living room wall and pulled up my puffy ski mittens to cover the exposed flesh of my wrists. I redressed my wool scarf using the doubled up muffler a.k.a the European/homosexual knot and drummed my marshmallow parka belly to pass the time as I waited for the pipes to start rattling.
I crossed my eyes and concentrated on blowing perfect smoke rings with my chilled breath. I did this for about an hour, hope increasingly fading that the heat would kick on.
It’s time to take matters into my own finger muffs.
I stormed downstairs the brownstone and pounded on the door of one of the first floor apartments.
“Open up, Super. I know you’re in there.”
Inside, some really loud and obstreperous indie rock was blasting. A rush of heat wafts out the opening door.
A white boy of no more than ten years of age is standing there with a mop full of greasy hipster hair and a vanity scarf tied into a knotted muffler--a trendy innovation on the knot I was using spotted only in the grittier parts of the Lower East Side.
“Dude, what’s your deal? I’m just trying to listen to the new Fiery Furnaces EP in peace man. Pitchfork gave it a 8.9. What do you want, dude?” He tossed his mane back like a pompous pussy.
“Uh…I wanted to get my heat turned back on and your dad, the Super, is pivotal to this process.”
“He had to jet. He’d be back in a few, bro. You can wait for him. Lemme readjust the settings on my iPod Mini stationed in my BOSE deck so we can listen to some more tunes. Who do you like more: Animal Collective? Joanna Newsom? or The Dears? Man, you're bringin' all the cold in.”
He then zipped up his black hoodie, revealing the words CARPET and MUNCHER in an arc across the front.
“Isn’t it ironic? I got it at Beacon’s Closet in Williamsburg for only 10 bucks. Who would sell this?”
To be continued!