Strongly Worded

The Cold War

As I may have mentioned, I live in an owner-occupied apartment. I have the ground floor, and the owners have the upper two floors. They are a retired couple that stay home all day and yell at one another constantly. In general, we get along fine, but I have never gotten used to the sense of surveillance, and their assertion that I am one lucky chick to be living in their house. My apartment is adorable, but I pay good money for it.

Whenever there is a problem, they bust in and take a look around (while insisting, at first, "I'm not going to come in". Then they fix whatever it is (the pilot light on the stove, mysterious gurgling in the pipes ...) and give some additional warnings about keeping plants off the hardwood floors or leaving the shower curtain open to prevent the pipes from freezing. These warnings are almost always accompanied by some horror story about one of their many horrible former tenants. (One flushed cat litter down the toilet. Another left banana peels to rot on the (pre-hardwood floor) wall-to-wall carpet. Another's careless winter behavior caused the pipes to freeze.) After the story is complete, they'll ALWAYS say, "I don't want to be a pain, though." And talk about what a cute apartment it is and don't I just love living here blah blah.

This routine has been "a pain" over the last year or so, but never a big deal. This year, however, relations have become very chilly. The landlords pay for and control the heat. They have one thermostat for the whole house, and heat rises. So it's always warmer upstairs that it is here. Last year, it was toasty warm at all times. This year, not so much. I have an indoor thermometer so I know exactly how cold it is. On Thursday night when I came home from work it was 52 degrees. After cooking dinner in my down coat, they turned on the heat. It warmed up to 64. Then I called them, and they raised it to 70. I prefer 73-75, but I'll take it.

This same story happens almost every night. On several occasions, after my call, they've busted into my apartment and suggested that I: put plastic over the windows to "seal" them, move my bed into the living room because it has fewer windows, and mount the thermometer "at eye level" so that it's more accurate. They have also invited me on multiple occasions to see for myself that it's much warmer upstairs and that they really, truly do have the heat on. Then they always sigh and talk about how expensive fuel is this season.

I can't describe how enraging this is, especially the thing about the thermometer. If it's 63 degrees at "Dori level" (the thermometer is on the living room table), then it's cold. I don't care if it might be 65 degrees at "eye level" or wherever the fuck they think is a more accurate place. I hate calling them, I hate defending myself, and I hate the crazy anxiety I have watching the temperature drop, and worrying about whether or when they'll turn the heat back on, and putting my face against the radiator listening for the blessed banging and hissing sounds that indicate impending warmth. I get so anxious listening that every little noise sounds like heat to me.

I dread coming home in the evenings, worrying about the cold. At least at work I can control the temperature, and I almost braved the storm yesterday for that reason. I am so sensitive to cold that I cry sometimes from the shivering, even when I'm wearing two shirts, a sweater, and a fleece (as I did all day yesterday).

Even though it offends my moral principles, I am going to buy a space heater today. I begrudge every cent of the purchase price, and every cent of the electric bill, but I guess I can't put a price on warmth.

Posted by Dori at 9:43 AM