Life's Not Worth Living Without Air-Conditioning and Lobster

Life’s Not Worth Living Without Air-Conditioning and Lobster

By TONY KORNHEISER

July 5, 2000 12 AM PT

What’s the greatest invention of all time?

Many would say it was the Wright brothers’ airplane, Edison’s electric lightbulb or Gutenberg’s printing press.

But my feeling is, those are obvious. Everybody was working on those things. After all, somebody would have invented the airplane. What, you think ‘N Sync would be going from city to city on their summer stadium tour by camel?

So since we’re all on the same page, we need to distinguish between an invention and a discovery. An invention is something that doesn’t exist in nature--like Michael Jackson. But a discovery is already there; it’s just waiting for someone to, um, discover it. Clearly, the top discovery of all time is boiled lobster. I mean, look at that bad boy. Who was the first guy who thought of eating that thing?

“Hey, guys, listen to this. Tell ‘em, Tommy boy.”

“OK, I know a lobster looks like a giant black spider from Mars. But I have this theory that if we drop it in a pot of boiling water, it will turn bright red, and we can crack it open with mallets and eat it.”

“Sure, Tommy, sure. Whaddya think it would taste good with, drawn butter? Hahaha.”

Eating lobster is a fascinating discovery. But I’m talking about inventions of epic proportion, inventions that have totally shaped our lives, inventions we could not live without. So, we can eliminate call waiting and matching mother-daughter sailor suits.

I’ve narrowed the list to three.

Anesthesia, the TV clicker and air-conditioning.

My dilemma was in what order to rank them--which was solved for me on Monday night when my air-conditioning went out.

I’m not so young that I don’t remember the world without air-conditioning. I remember well how my family got its first window-unit air-conditioner when I was 16. Fifteen years I spent sleeping in a pool of sweat. (In retrospect, that may explain my lack of dates.)

So when my air-conditioning went out, I did not have a good night. I was schvitzing like an aardvark--even with the windows open and the fan on “Stockholm.” I awakened several times feeling like I had been dipped in a marinade.

Consequently, in the morning, I wasn’t full of high spirits. I believe my first words were: If the air-conditioning guy isn’t here by 9:30, I will find him and hang him upside-down from the shower rod like a roast duck.

“What’s the matter here?” I asked the repairman.

“Your compressor is broken,” he told me.

“So, fix it. We have a service contract,” I said.

I’m a big believer in service contracts. Over the years, I must have paid $5,000 in service contracts on my air-conditioner. I do that precisely so that if the thing breaks in July, SWAT teams of refrigeration specialists will rush over with tanker trucks of freon, and foam my entire house. In November, they can take their time. In July, I want them crashing through the door before I hang up the phone.

“Service contract won’t do you any good,” the repairman said. “This box is 20 years old. We don’t fix them that old. You need a new one.”

“Fine,” I said. “When can we get a new one?”

“We can get a salesman over here tomorrow morning,” he said.

“After I buy a new one, when will it be installed?” I asked.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“We’re pretty well booked up,” he said.

“OK, how long?” I asked.

“Well, it won’t be like a three-month wait,” he said.

How reassuring. Two months would be, let’s see, early September. By then, they’d need to come over here with a 200-pound Hoover just to suck me out of the carpet.

“I was hoping we could get it done sooner than that,” I said. “Because I just watched the Weather Channel, and you know how the 90s are in orange? Well, there’s a big, fat band headed this way the color of Strom Thurmond’s hair. So, I’m thinking tomorrow might be good.”

He gave me his boss’ number to call.

It took a few minutes, but I got a live body, and I explained the situation. He assured me that I could get a new air-conditioner within one day.

“How much might this cost?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know,” he said.

He was right.

So, now, I am looking forward to being poor but refrigerated.

Lobster salad, anyone?