Let's be honest. There are certain things about the good old U. S. of A. we take for granted. (Or at least I do. ) Plenty of good food, clean, abundant water and central heating come to mind. And over the last couple of weeks here at "Tosca" (this year's operatically-themed Santa Croce flat) the heat part has been, well, spotty.
With temperatures hovering around 30 degrees F here in Tuscany, a certain lack of warmth at home was beginning to take its toll. Oddly, the back bedrooms of the flat were warm as toast, but the front: the part containing the kitchen, living, dining, and master bedroom (and windows facing the square) felt as if the air conditioning was set to permafrost. There simply weren't enough socks, sweaters and scarfs to keep me warm. Yesterday, (as shocking as you will find this) I actually took to my bed for a nap to keep warm.
Hating to be a complainer, I postponed calling the management believing (incorrectly) that I could puzzle out the system and get the place heated up since something, obviously, was working on zone two and there couldn't be THAT much thermal loss through the windows. So I fiddled and observed and fiddled some more. No dice. Ice on the windows. HVAC engineer I ain't.
So, this morning, having had enough of the Bob Cratchit routine, I called the ever-lovely Cecile (whom I insist on calling "Se-sil´" in my best Lewistonian patoise) who immediately arrived with plumber in tow to figure out the problem. Wish I'd had my Vine on sooner. (Sorry, Larry, just don't have that "call the super" gene...) Turns out, there was an "imbalance." A few tweaks of dials, knobs and gauges by Senore Idraulico and, as if by magic, the many Syracuse-made Carrier units throughout my place start pumping forth lovely warm air.
Fine. Happy it works. Glad to be warm, but frustrated not to have been able to figure it out myself. And unlike my friend Tony who blames the Italian economy and its social entitlement predicate for all faulty systems and thus my chill, I simply figured there would be a logical, mechanical solution to my temperature maladjustment. Wrong. There was nothing logical about the fix. The man needed to come. He needed to wave a wand and chant some magical encantations over the thermostats. And if such methodology is evidence of evil
socialism, I'm all for it. All politics are local, turns out.
For some reason I've realized this winter how much I take heat for granted. And also that my range of winter temperature comfort is very narrow.
Posted by: Rob Gould | 01/22/2012 at 12:58 PM
No offense taken. That's why God created Supers before copywriters.
Posted by: Larry Vine | 01/20/2012 at 08:22 AM