Bought air
By Jacob Hatcher
Community Columnist
There is banging and stomping above my head; exasperated chuckles are drifting through the ceiling and “you’ve got to be kidding me” has been mumbled at least once every fifteen minutes. The house has been in the high 70’s for the better part of a week, so the repairman is sweating it out in the attic while I sit under a ceiling fan going so fast that if you poured a little water on it it could power the entire southeast. Our house feels like a Hank Williams song sounds; it’s hot and sticky and so humid you feel like you’ve got to swim from one to another. While not having AC for a few days is pretty low on the list of grand problems, relative to world hunger and global strife, it has brought a little bit of perspective. There’s not a southern boy alive that hasn’t heard someone hollar, “Shut that door! You’re lettin’ all the bought air out.” For folks that didn’t grow up with AC readily available, it was as if cool air was a nonrenewable resource. It’s explained a lot though, this being without air conditioning. Having found myself sitting in a chair in the driveway at night, I now fully understand why every picture from Daddy’s childhood was taken outside with a platoon of family sitting in lawn chairs. I now understand why I spent so many nights snapping peas on the back porch as a child. At that point Nana and Papa had air conditioning, but I guess after generations of folks snap peas in the cool of the night air, the porch is just where peas go to get snapped, cool air not withstanding. I hear van doors shutting outside, which means they’re almost done. It won’t be long until a steady stream of cool air begins to pour forth from our ceiling. I’ll probably sit on the couch with a blanket this evening, forgetting the tropical conditions that have descended upon us. And when the kids go outside to play, I’ll hollar, “Shut that door! You’re lettin’ all the bought air out!”
