Curse of the Reverse Thermostat
Dan was away last weekend.
It was very hot.
He texted me and said, “Hey—don’t forget to put on the AC if you’re hot.”
“Will do!” I texted.
“Let me know if you need help with it.” Damn he knows me, I thought, but I was determined.
“I just press Cool, Down dial and then Set, right?” I asked.
“Yep!"
“Then I think I got it,” I said. “Have fun in Cooperstown!”
I walked over to the thermostat next to the TV. I looked at it. There were buttons — set, hold and some third option. There were dials—On, Off, Cool, Hot, Auto.
“Huh,” I thought.
I felt a sense of de ja vu.
This thermostat undos me. All thermostats do. This happens at work too.
“No, no, Sara,” my custodian Richie tells me. “Remember, yours is a reverse thermostat. You spin the dial to a higher number, it gets cooler. You spin it to a lower number, it gets hotter. Reverse thermostat.” Richie has ruined me and thermostats forever. At work, there’s no science. I put it up higher, it either gets hotter, colder, or stays the same. Then David comes in with his little laser reader and points it at the vent, shows me a reading that means nothing to me, and then I sit back down at my desk and chime in when all my coworkers are mourning the [insert heat, arctic cold, stickiness, etc]. I chalk it all up to the reverse thermostat
Now at home, with Dan in Cooperstown and heat bugs buzzing in the sky, I’m staring at the little white box that could have been writing in Arabic.
I press Cool.
Ok. I think. That went ok.
Then I press Set. The screen starts to dance—the words “6am Tuesday 81 degrees” flash. I press Set again. Now “Monday through Friday 11pm, 65 degrees”.
Oh god, I think.
I’m pressing down and up and set and all sorts of buttons, none of which seem to be doing anything I want which is simply: Cool. Now.
I look at my phone. Not gonna call him, I think. I turn back to the thermostat, fiddle a bit more, and give up, praying that none of the settings that popped up have actually been agreed to in my confused state.
During the weekend, I take naps, because I’m sick, and wake up with rivers running down my face. Rather than inquire about how to use the thermostat, I pick up coconut water to replenish my electrolytes. I open the windows, which doesn’t do much to begin with, but I close them at night, and wake up with wet hair in the morning.
I survive.
Dan comes home Sunday night and says “What in the world? It’s ten times hotter in here than outside!”
He looks at me. I avert my eyes and continue to chop lettuce.
”Did you try the thermostat?”
”Um,” I say. “Ya, but, I couldn’t do it.”
I put the knife down. ”Let me show you what I did—I really don’t understand how everything went wrong so quickly.”
He follows me to the thermostat. I say, here I did this, I did that, what gives?!
”Well, your first problem is that’s not the right thermostat,” he says.
”What?!” I say.
”Ya,” he says. He walks out of the room we’re in. I follow. “It’s here.” He is pointing to a box that’s right behind the other thermostat, only in another room. It dawns on me this is kind of another reverse thermostat situation in that sense. With Dan at the helm, in three clicks, the air is on and the sweat is drying off my neck.
The second problem is that you’ve seen me configure this thermostat a hundred times,” he says, shaking his head.
I smile. “It’s kind of funny though, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t think so, but he mildly agrees. I however continue to laugh through dinner whenever I think of it.
I sleep like a baby all through the night.