My loved ones can attest to the fact that I have never been able to wait for things. When I zero in on something that I deem important, it often becomes an obsession until I find and acquire it. I compulsively track UPS and FedEx packages. If one store doesn’t have the item, I will go to every one in a chain until successful. When I want to learn something, I will read every book and article within reach until that quest is fulfilled. A blessing and a curse, my inability to wait is an inherent, unstoppable trait. That is, for most things. There are exceptions.

As a child, certain things were cast aside because I was too preoccupied to deal with them. These have included situations that required confrontation, and (I will note ahead of time that this procrastination has passed with age) finding proper toilet facilities (again, this habit has since passed—I am now an avid connoisseur of urban bathrooms and can find a clean one in almost any area of the city I might dwell when the need presents itself). Today, I also drag my feet on things such as GRE taking, visiting doctors, acquisition of technologies (if you can believe it) and certain electronics. I am not quite sure why I do this, but the trend continues.

So, how does one acquire an a/c in Brooklyn? The simple act of driving to the store, buying the beast of a thing, loading it into the car, hauling it up the steps and installing it seemed simple at first—that is until I realized that I had no car, lacked an elevator, and had the upper body strength of a piece of cooked spaghetti. Wounded by the price of home delivery (nearly $80 at Lowes, which is only front door service—front door meaning door to your building, not your apartment), I slunk into my daily responsibilities, the a/c buying scheme formulating in my head and gnawing at my throbbing, humidity-induced headache.

On Sunday, I rose at 6:00 a.m., unable to sleep through the heat. This time it was serious. I needed me some a/c, NOW. At 9:30 I set out for Lowes, armed with a car service number and determined to return with an air conditioner. I chose one, grabbed a cart, and attempted to move the unit from the shelf. I could barely make it budge. Mr. A/C man attempted to assist me, but I shooed him away, explaining that I would have to get it up to my apartment, anyway, and that I should get used to the weight. He literally chuckled in my face, as did the car service man when he arrived at the loading exit to find me leaning on the gigantic box, umbrella shielding more if it than myself from the rain. Lady, I have no idea how you’ve going to get that from the car to the door, let alone your apartment, he said, as if I had any choice in the matter.

Of course, I did get it from the car to the door, nearly dropping the box twice. In the lobby, I stared up at the four flights of stairs, took a big breath, and heaved. Why are a/c’s so heavy? I mean, seriously, I felt as though I was lugging a dead version of myself upstairs. I’m sure it was only about forty pounds, but for this non-muscular single woman, it felt like the weight of the world. I won’t even get into the process that I went through to install it (it’s been a long time since I have felt that dumb).

I guess this was my long winded way of stating two life lessons:

Never shirk the necessity of a/c in New York City. It will always catch up to you.

Do befriend or date (or at least find the funds to pay) individuals with the following vital characteristics: a car, muscles, home repair know how, and/or a talent for nudging you to do important things when you need them. That way you can save the exertion and sweat for something far funner.