II
Fortunately upon exiting the van my roommate and all around.. roommate, Jesse Popp was out in front of the building having a smoke ( or breath of fresh air if for some reason you weren't suppose to know he smokes). This was encouraging for two reasons: he hadn't been answering his phone, and my payment option with the van dudes was only for a curb drop. Now he was left with no option but to help me raise this ackward box up to the fourth floor. Jesse had already proven his retard strength when a few months back he captured a TV at a similar starting point in Brooklyn and got it into our apartment alone. The same television that would cause me to exclaim "ditch pig" when I lifted it only a couple feet onto it's stand. But I digress...
Upon setting the box down in my bedroom I knew I owed Jesse one so wiping the sweat from his masculine brow. Whoop's forgot what I was writing. The next challenge was to figure out how the pre-cut slip through the wall worked. It's essentially a box in the wall that you put your air conditioner through, rather than a window. The fact that I was having trouble opening the box the air conditioner came in, seemed like a bad sign. My fumbling with the box produced a character who would stay with me through the remainder of the install, that character was Assistant Manager Popp, holding a Coors "tall boy" while pointing and suggesting.
So this slip in the wall was all metal and screws. I needed pliers as the heads did not accept a screw driver. As I'm studying how best to yank these tiny screws Popp reveals that on the balcony right outside my room is a wire that's hanging down from the roof. This is in fact why he was smoking* out front instead of off the balcony. He reported having gotten the "battery" taste in his mouth when he tried to remove it from the high patio. I had come too far and was too hot and gross to let this wire thwart my installation. I stepped onto the deck and slapped at the wire that was hanging in a messy spool like it was a bald face hornet. Once I was certain it wouldn't full on "horse fence" shock me, I went in one jerky motion to remove the wire by grabbing it up and tossing it over board.
We paced around outside pulling at the wall cover, reduced to infants as we pulled, banged and theorized. Infants don't theorize, you say? Come spend a few days with us. Back inside I began twisting screws to remove the inside cover hoping it will reveal the secret of removing the outside. I should also say that at this point I've donned a baseball hat. Fitted hats shrink so I have to buy them bigger than needed, and sweat them down to size. The problem being, that until the hat reduces from ten gallons I can't wear it outside as I end up looking like a small child (some readers saying, that sounds right), or like I'm perpetrating a look that is very popular on my block but not by anyone who likes the Shins as much as I do . So I took this sweaty in-home opportunity to get some work done on my new Tiger's lid.
Once inside the wall I found about ten more of the little screws. These screws were all tight to the sides making it all the more fun to unscrew. This was the type of job where the fat of your hand begins to feel like it's turning into stone, stone that's been heated with a blow torch. The occasional profane word exits my mouth, and in this case occasional equals every third word. Assistant Manager Popp would come in when summoned or when he wanted to tell me to come watch TV.
I going to speed up the pacing of this story as I think it may just be too incredible of a tale and I don't want anyone getting overloaded. Finally after much debate about what portion of the grates and panels were to remain attached when the unit was inserted, it was time to throw the thing in. The booklet had a serious diagram and lengthy instructions about how to fit the A/C just right. At this point some four hours into just the installation portion of the evening, I knew there was no way this was happening. So we humped the unit into its new home, and I jammed every piece of foam in around it. No rhyme, no reason, and a pair of argyle socks went in too.
Sorry it took so long to finish this but you cannot rush a bride to the altar. Especially the bride who's a little hit in the face and wearing a dress she has no business squeezing into. Besides I've been busy studying the lips on Brangelina's baby. Fucking Shiloh? Even if that kid wasn't a filthy rich child star, it probably wouldn't suffer any retribution related to its stupid name at school. No parents want to name their child a "regular" name, so at this point a weird name isn't weird and there's one less reason to get beat up in grade school. I knew some good would come from the name Dakota. It'll get interesting when nobody wants to name their kid a name that already exists. Picture people's email address, then imagine that's their actual name. Man I'm good.
Upon setting the box down in my bedroom I knew I owed Jesse one so wiping the sweat from his masculine brow. Whoop's forgot what I was writing. The next challenge was to figure out how the pre-cut slip through the wall worked. It's essentially a box in the wall that you put your air conditioner through, rather than a window. The fact that I was having trouble opening the box the air conditioner came in, seemed like a bad sign. My fumbling with the box produced a character who would stay with me through the remainder of the install, that character was Assistant Manager Popp, holding a Coors "tall boy" while pointing and suggesting.
So this slip in the wall was all metal and screws. I needed pliers as the heads did not accept a screw driver. As I'm studying how best to yank these tiny screws Popp reveals that on the balcony right outside my room is a wire that's hanging down from the roof. This is in fact why he was smoking* out front instead of off the balcony. He reported having gotten the "battery" taste in his mouth when he tried to remove it from the high patio. I had come too far and was too hot and gross to let this wire thwart my installation. I stepped onto the deck and slapped at the wire that was hanging in a messy spool like it was a bald face hornet. Once I was certain it wouldn't full on "horse fence" shock me, I went in one jerky motion to remove the wire by grabbing it up and tossing it over board.
We paced around outside pulling at the wall cover, reduced to infants as we pulled, banged and theorized. Infants don't theorize, you say? Come spend a few days with us. Back inside I began twisting screws to remove the inside cover hoping it will reveal the secret of removing the outside. I should also say that at this point I've donned a baseball hat. Fitted hats shrink so I have to buy them bigger than needed, and sweat them down to size. The problem being, that until the hat reduces from ten gallons I can't wear it outside as I end up looking like a small child (some readers saying, that sounds right), or like I'm perpetrating a look that is very popular on my block but not by anyone who likes the Shins as much as I do . So I took this sweaty in-home opportunity to get some work done on my new Tiger's lid.
Once inside the wall I found about ten more of the little screws. These screws were all tight to the sides making it all the more fun to unscrew. This was the type of job where the fat of your hand begins to feel like it's turning into stone, stone that's been heated with a blow torch. The occasional profane word exits my mouth, and in this case occasional equals every third word. Assistant Manager Popp would come in when summoned or when he wanted to tell me to come watch TV.
I going to speed up the pacing of this story as I think it may just be too incredible of a tale and I don't want anyone getting overloaded. Finally after much debate about what portion of the grates and panels were to remain attached when the unit was inserted, it was time to throw the thing in. The booklet had a serious diagram and lengthy instructions about how to fit the A/C just right. At this point some four hours into just the installation portion of the evening, I knew there was no way this was happening. So we humped the unit into its new home, and I jammed every piece of foam in around it. No rhyme, no reason, and a pair of argyle socks went in too.
Sorry it took so long to finish this but you cannot rush a bride to the altar. Especially the bride who's a little hit in the face and wearing a dress she has no business squeezing into. Besides I've been busy studying the lips on Brangelina's baby. Fucking Shiloh? Even if that kid wasn't a filthy rich child star, it probably wouldn't suffer any retribution related to its stupid name at school. No parents want to name their child a "regular" name, so at this point a weird name isn't weird and there's one less reason to get beat up in grade school. I knew some good would come from the name Dakota. It'll get interesting when nobody wants to name their kid a name that already exists. Picture people's email address, then imagine that's their actual name. Man I'm good.
posted by Vince at 8:30 AM
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