In the Heat of the Night
by Alex McRae

Yeah, it's hot. Bad hot. But it's not that hot yet. The thermometer has toyed with the century mark recently, but we haven't seen the hottest day of the year yet. Not even close.

Take my word for it. Experience proves my personal weather prediction system beats computer models, wooly worms or the "Farmers' Almanac" hands down. I rely entirely on McRae's First Law of Really Hot Weather, which states:

"Your car's air conditioner will fail on the hottest day of any given year in which (a) the warranty has just expired or (b) the car has just been paid off or (c) both.

Since I paid off the car a few months ago and the warranty went by the wayside weeks later, I'm a prime candidate for disaster. But so far, so good, weather-wise.

And I really can't complain. The old heap has been a good one, and I'm not aware of any mechanical disasters lurking beneath the hood. It skips, snorts and jumps when I pull a hill, but I'm betting it needs plugs, not a transmission. A few [months or thousand dollars] from now, I'll know for sure.

I do know this: sooner or later the AC is going belly up. The good news is, this won't be my first AC-free rodeo. I've learned to not just expect the problem, but deal with it. It's not that hard, really. All you do is wear cool, comfortable clothing, drink plenty of fluids and roll down every window in the car because hot, humid or horrid, that's the only breeze you're going to get. It's a trick I learned early.

When I was very young, cars didn't come equipped with air conditioning. That didn't keep us from being overjoyed the day my daddy came home sporting a brand new Ford.

It was black and shiny and, during the day, hot as Satan's guest house. It didn't really matter, though, because we didn't spend much time in it. Daddy drove the car to work and back every day, and once a week after sundown we all hit the road for a special treat, but long leisurely drives were out of the question from March through October.

There was only one exception. The annual summer trip to visit my grandmother in Ft. Gaines, Ga. But even then we didn't panic. We just drove all night, when it was tolerably cool.

After a week or so, we drove back in the darkness.

Except once. For some reason, Daddy had stuck around a day later than scheduled, which meant we had to travel back to New Orleans on a brutally-hot August Sunday.

After 100 miles, I was in such bad shape I could hardly whine. My sister grew more sullen by the mile. By the time we hit Mobile, Ala., I was desperate.

I finally mustered the strength to announce I was "overheated" and in danger of throwing up if we didn't stop for something cool.

I expected to be ignored, but apparently the threat of fresh upchuck on new Ford upholstery was more than the folks could bear. Daddy pulled over and mother asked what might help.

Iwas soshocked, thoughts of cool drinks escaped my baked brain altogether. Before I knew what was happening, I blurted out, "I need a donut."

We found some. I ate my fill. The rest of the way home I wasn't a bit cooler, but I knew I had no room to moan. When she saw my eyes roll back in my head, mother gave me a sip of her drink to help wash the icing off my teeth.

So if hot weather has you down, remember, it could be worse. And if you get too hot, remember to get a drink with your donut.