Well, I had my first Mexicanesque near-accident, resulting in a negative, a positive, and an annoyance, respectively: my eyelashes are significantly shorter, I won’t need to pluck my nose hairs (informally called “cockroach feet” in Spanish) for a week or two, and all I could smell was burnt hair for the rest of the evening.
My gas comes from a tank up on my roof (I think). It was about a $50 buy-in, and then whenever it runs out I’m supposed to stare out my window, intently waiting for the gas truck which is usually accompanied by a catchy and/or annoying little siren. Otherwise it could be mistaken for the water truck, the garbage man, the knife-sharpener, the balloon man (just balloons, not balloon animals), or the corn salesman. Everyone makes a trademark noise. When you decide you need one of these services, you basically have to run the hell outside in the five to ten second window of opportunity or be forced to await another day or another week.
In an effort to avoid for as long as possible the task of not only flagging down the gas truck but also somehow surmounting my little two-story house with full gas tank in hand, I decided to get into the routine of turning off the boiler every day. Why should I maintain a constant tank of hot water if I only need one hot shower a day and it can heat up in 20 minutes? Not even Mexican prices can turn off the Linderman inside of me (I have yet to find a taco shack that offers free refills with the purchase of one small soda).
This “routine” lasted one day. You can probably see where this is going. I turned the nob on the boiler, could see the pilot light grow a bit larger, could hear gas flooding into the space under the tank… I continued to wait as curiosity gradually overcame patience, finally unlatching the little 4-inch by 4-inch door for a better view. If it were 6x6, I might also have a new hairdo and no eyebrows because in the moment that I peered into the now gas-filled space it ignited and the burst of flame had nowhere to go but out the little window. Recounting this to Brenda’s dad reminded him to tell me that I should be careful because he had had trouble with the boiler when he first hooked up the gas.
My gas comes from a tank up on my roof (I think). It was about a $50 buy-in, and then whenever it runs out I’m supposed to stare out my window, intently waiting for the gas truck which is usually accompanied by a catchy and/or annoying little siren. Otherwise it could be mistaken for the water truck, the garbage man, the knife-sharpener, the balloon man (just balloons, not balloon animals), or the corn salesman. Everyone makes a trademark noise. When you decide you need one of these services, you basically have to run the hell outside in the five to ten second window of opportunity or be forced to await another day or another week.
In an effort to avoid for as long as possible the task of not only flagging down the gas truck but also somehow surmounting my little two-story house with full gas tank in hand, I decided to get into the routine of turning off the boiler every day. Why should I maintain a constant tank of hot water if I only need one hot shower a day and it can heat up in 20 minutes? Not even Mexican prices can turn off the Linderman inside of me (I have yet to find a taco shack that offers free refills with the purchase of one small soda).
This “routine” lasted one day. You can probably see where this is going. I turned the nob on the boiler, could see the pilot light grow a bit larger, could hear gas flooding into the space under the tank… I continued to wait as curiosity gradually overcame patience, finally unlatching the little 4-inch by 4-inch door for a better view. If it were 6x6, I might also have a new hairdo and no eyebrows because in the moment that I peered into the now gas-filled space it ignited and the burst of flame had nowhere to go but out the little window. Recounting this to Brenda’s dad reminded him to tell me that I should be careful because he had had trouble with the boiler when he first hooked up the gas.
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