A COLD NIGHT IN HELLJun 18 '03 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Being cold is not cool
I am but a humble gringo. Fate led me to Chile. Three years ago I was a 42 year old nut case who spent the month of January shivering in St Paul. Six months later, I was a 42 year old nut case spending July shivering in Santiago. Itīs true! Shivering in Santiago. The temperate desert climate that sees less snow than Florida. The coldest nights for this Minnesota born and bred lad were during my first winter in Stgo. Compared to back home, the temperature probably averages 30 to 40 degrees warmer during the winter months, but damn it was cold at night! Out cement house was like a horror movie castle. The dungeon to be precise. Sundown would find me hunkered down under two blankets and a comforter, still craving heat. It reminds me of the year I rented from a co-worker. Nice guy and all, but he owned the house and had the final say on general operation. The rent was cheap and so was he. It wasnīt only his shoes that squeaked. I had a main floor bedroom, but spent my free time in the basement. My roommate was a robust Scandinavian. You know the type. “Ya , lets yump in da ice fishing hole and cool off, okay then.” I was a rotund Scandinavian, but thatīs a story for another day. At my rented house central heating was there for when it got “cold”. That means when your nose began to for snotcicles, and breath vapors started to interfere with your view of the television. The heater would kick in at about 55°. The thermostat sensor was upstairs. I was hanging out downstairs where it is noticably colder. Itīs that whole hot air rising thing, you digŋ On a good night I would only have to trudge upstairs two or three times to run hot water over my blue-toned club feet. Can you say Little House on the Prairieŋ Well, my winter in Santiago was worse. Oh sure, it didnīt drop below 0°, hell, I donīt that it ever dropped to freezing. Oh sure, we didnīt have a basement. Oh sure, I had Macaīs warmth next to me all night. I donīt care. Dammit, I froze my tail off. No central heating and the portable electric radiator was too expensive to run on a regular basis. The walls might as well been designed by eskimos. We would have started nose kissing in our little igloo, except I draw the line at swapping snot. Call me a prude. Back home I could always relax with a nice hot bath. Did I mention that Chileans are generally smaller in stature than Americansŋ Did I mention that I was 6ī2”, 265# at that timeŋ Did I mention that the tub was best suited as a bird bathŋ I think not. The water is heated by a gas califant. It is heated as it passes through the flames. As long as you have gas, you can shower the day away. Being a dumb rotund Scandinavian gringo, I didnīt think to turn the heat up. It really wouldnīt have mattered anyway, because the water didnīt RUN out of the faucet. More of a leisurely jog..... at a rest home.... for paraplegics. I could have said three Rosaries and recited the constitution before the birdbath was half full. Anyway, I eventually squeezed my tub into the tub and damn near saw God and his poor cousin Ike when my back made contact with the exposed frozen porcelain. I threw my arm out to brace myself and discovered that the interior walls were also designed by sadistic eskimos. Talk about a cold night in hell! All I could do was rush back to bed and try warm up. Maca gave me an icy stare. She wasnīt mad at me or anything, it was just the atmospheric conditions. Showers ever since. Saludos cordiales, Gary  |
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