Soul on ice.(hot weather in New York City)(Humor)(Column)

AS the song says, "All around, people looking half-dead / Walking on the sidewalk hotter than a match-head." We expect the sidewalks of New York to heat up as summer comes on. But then, we expect to be able to retreat to our airconditioned apartments--unless, that is, we live in one of those apartment buildings where the turning wheel of the seasons is marked by the failure of the central air conditioning (now), or the failure of the central heating (six months from now). Our ancestors marked the progress of the year by the zodiac, by the complementary length of day and night, and by the behavior of birds and beasts. New Yorkers mark it by the maneuvers of their landlords.

It could be a coincidence that the AC shuts down as soon as it gets hot, and the heat shuts down as soon as it gets cold. It could be a string of coin flips, all, by pure chance, coming up heads (rare events, statisticians remind us, do happen--rarely). It could also be that the gremlins of disorder gnaw away at the infrastructure of apartment buildings all year round, and that their depredations manifest themselves only when there is a demand for the services they have short-circuited. It could be. But it could also be (and as New Yorkers, we incline to this opinion) that landlords, looking to pick up a few expense-free days wherever they can, defer repairs until June and December.

Up pops the economist to explain why this should be so. In a market where supply and demand interacted freely, like 20-year-olds in a bar, landlords eager to collect top-dollar rents would strive to please their tenants, making sure that intercoms worked, that elevators went up and down, and that finicky mankind could make its dwelling places warm or cool at will. But where rents are controlled, as they are in New York, landlords view services as handouts to bloodsuckers. Their meanness, in turn, allows tenants to feel no qualms about gouging them. The impacted landlord-tenant relationship, and the others like it that permeate New York life, give us standing to lecture George W. Bush and other Texans on morality.

So much for the world. In the short run, we must cool off. That means buying an air conditioner.

The merchant, anticipating our arrival, has stacked his air conditioners in banks by the front door, their tags and boxes done in soothing shades of light blue and green. Watched by ten samurai Tom Cruises, gazing from the wide-screen televisions, we make our choice. The suburbanite can store his hibernating air conditioner in the closets, basements, attics, and garages that he allots for stuff; we must be more discriminating. So, while the Toothchatterer was on sale for $119, the Toefreezer, which sold for $149, was two inches less wide and an inch and a half less deep. After a warranty, taxes, and a cab ride had added $70 more, we brought salvation home.

...