Heatwave

By Pat Fule Random Thoughts

By the time you read this, I’ll have returned from the annual Fule summer trip to the surface of the sun, or Phoenix as it’s normally called. You might ask, and many store clerks and restaurant servers did: why would you go to Phoenix in the summer?
That’s a great question, but suffice it to say with Deb’s teaching job, summer is the best time for us to travel, so 46-47 C heat was our destination. Yes, summer in Phoenix: you see few people in subdivisions because they’re all hiding from the heat. Last summer there, I burst out laughing when a guy in front of us was telling his buddy that it was so hot, he had crotch soup in his shorts! Gross and disturbing, but the sun has a way of bringing the “crazy” out of people.
Actually, another reason we went to Phoenix in August was that Debbie had to go back to school this summer. I know teachers often get the gears for having two months off a year, but we get paid on a 10-month contract, where the salary is divided over 12 months. Many do attend conferences or go to school in summers to prepare for a new school year. In fact, I’m writing this column in our idling rental car, because Deb is in a teachers’ store. So far, no one has tried to break the window to let out the chubby old guy.
So, Deb went back to school. I did ask if she’d be wearing one of those private school girl outfits, but she told me to “get a life.” I felt it was an innocent question and I did offer to chip in on the outfit, but no go. Maybe Hallowe’en?
In Phoenix, I once again discovered the difference between us in regards to heat. Deb loves the heat, while I have an inner limit. You see, I have my own built in thermometer. When I’m exposed to heat, something is triggered in me. I have given it the technical term of “throat sweat.”
At the base of my throat, in that little indentation, I will sweat at the first indication of being overheated. It’s kind of like when the old coal miners would take a caged canary into a mine. You know the deal: if “tweety” kicks off from gases other than those caused by “Joe Rockhead’s” salami/bologna lunches, then it was time to clear out of the mine. My throat will get very sweaty in a warm place, and I’ll know I’m in trouble. So, you can bet that this summer, my throat gauge has been kicking in regularly while Deb throws up her arms like a gal at Woodstock, and she celebrates the sun. She floats aimlessly in the outdoor pool while I hide, tucked in the water in the shade, sometimes under the diving board. Good times.
Back in May, I had another heated experience (did you get that little heat pun, there? You’re welcome, Mayor Bacon)! Deb and I were driving home from the Crowsnest Pass from my niece’s graduation. I can also get a bit sleepy in heat, so I had Deb take over driving for a while, so I wouldn’t get us killed. After dozing off, my throat sweat, like Spider-Man’s “spider sense”, was tingling. Actually, it was also my butt. I sleepily shut off the heated seat and went back to sleep. The next part of the drive, I had a fitful sleep as I was still on fire. It was then I realized Debbie had been turning on the heated seat every time I dozed off. I figured that was a cruel trick, but it was pretty well played.
Back when I was in university, someone in our residence building set off the fire alarm. The problem was that all seven floors had to be evacuated for the firemen to respond. Did I mention this happened in the dead of the night in a January cold snap? Another trick was played on us here, as the fire department kept us outside for a very long time until they eventually allowed us back in. By then, our crowd of residence students was beginning to turn on each other and accusations were flying. It was like something out of Lord of the Flies, except there was no pig’s head and no one dropped a boulder on Piggy’s head (sorry about the book spoiler there). There was no chance of my throat sweat happening that night. We all trudged back in after a long, cold time.
That same year in residence I got to see another example of opposites in regards to temperature. Normally, someone is supposed to match up roommates who have similar programs of study, interests and hobbies, even whether you need quiet or you’re sociable. Well, whoever matched two roommates on our floor either screwed up badly, or like Deb’s heated seat, they thought they had a sure-fire joke. Later that month, we heard how two roommates had been so mismatched, both had demanded new roommates. We saw the evidence late one February night. One of the guys in the same wing showed us how it had degraded. He swung their door open, and in that room, you could see your breath in cold, white billows. Each room had two windows that could be opened, and one was. There, one roommate was shivering while sleeping, and he was wrapped in blankets and covers. The poor guy had even gone to bed wearing his parka, and he had on mittens. The other guy was sleeping blissfully, a light blanket carelessly tossed over him, a bare leg hanging out. I felt badly for the poor guy exhaling clouds of white breath, the frosted over windows behind him, and a skiff of evening snow on their windowsill. It actually snowed inside the room.
So, I’m staying in our air-conditioned rental car while Deb shops. If I step outside, I’ll be swallowed up by the 47 degrees of pure heat. She’s shopping at one of those outdoor outlet malls, but I’m not biting. There’s no AC out there, and right now I have no throat sweat, and I plan to keep it that way. I plan to enjoy this AC, get to the air-conditioned house with the cold fridge beverages, and then head to my little hiding spot under the shade of the pool’s waterfall.
(Random Thoughts is a slice of life humorous column that appears in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, current mayor, husband, father and grandfather – Pat Fule. He is also a former town councillor, high school teacher and coach. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)