At this point in the summer, I think most people have seen what is being dubbed as the “poor man’s A/C” or even the “redneck A/C” depending on where you live.
As someone who grew up in the south, I wish I’d known about this as a kid. Endless days of 108 degrees = miserable.
When we moved to Seattle, one of the draws was the temperate climate. Mild winters. Mild summers. While Seattle does have, on average, 5 days per year above 80, most of the summer is fairly mild and as such, no one up here has A/C. (Edit: Scratch that. Most people don’t have A/C. Quite a few of the billionaires here do.)
A heat wave drowned Seattle this week triggering “excessive heat warnings.” It’s barely July. We just started summer here! And yet, this past weekend, it was 92 and 93 degrees for the high, coupled with 75% humidity. That was when I decided to go ahead and build a poor man’s A/C as pictured above. And then the following conversation took place.
Husband: (Seeing all the supplies) “What’s all that for?”
Me: “See, you use a Styrofoam cooler, so you can cut two holes in the top,” (he glances at our cat, DiNozzo), “and on one end, you put a fan that sucks air into the cooler,” (he glances again at DiNozzo), “and on the other, the PVC pipe. Then you fill the cooler with ice or ice packs.” (He glances at DiNozzo), “I went with ice packs since they use less water.” (He glances again at DiNozzo again.) “But the fan blows the air across the ice packs and cold air comes out–and would you stop looking at DiNozzo? He’s fine.”
Husband: “You got a Styrofoam cooler?”
Me: “Yes. You have to so you can easily cut the holes.”
Husband: “A Styrofoam cooler?” (He glances again at DiNozzo.)
Me: “Okay, what’s with DiNozzo?”
Husband: “You bought a Styrofoam cooler with Mr.-Eats-All-The-Things here?” (He glances again at DiNozzo.)
Me: “Yes, but he won’t eat it. It’s a cooler.”
Husband: “Remember the printer box?”
And that’s when I remembered. The box our printer came in that we hadn’t recycled yet because of all the Styrofoam in it. (We didn’t know if we could recycle Styrofoam up here in Seattle or not yet.) DiNozzo was obsessed with getting inside the box, so he could eat the Styrofoam. I have Styrofoam cats–Styrofoam crazy cats.
We turned the box upside down (flap side down). He flipped it back over (we don’t know how).
We turned it upside down again and weighed it down. He chewed a hole in the side of the box.
We stuffed the hole. He chewed another.
We stuffed both holes. He spent several hours trying to pry the box open. Finally he gave up. And then I moved the box without thinking, and it flipped over. He went to town trying to open the flaps. And it all began all over again.
He’s obsessed with Styrofoam. And I bought a Styrofoam cooler. Now I understood why my husband been glancing pointedly at DiNozzo.
Me: “So I’ll wrap the cooler in tape.”
Husband: “Because if there’s nothing our cats love more than Styrofoam, it’s tape.”
Me: “F—.”
Wish me luck.
P.S. After reading this to my husband, he said we sounded as crazy as the Bloggess and her husband. I took that as a complement. 😉
