About 10 years ago I was touring il Coloseo in Rome with a
best friend. During the tour, the guide (we beat the line by jumping in a tour
group) delivered to the group a line that he presented as a joke. “Italians are
allergic to work,” he said. Living here the past seven summers, I’m beginning
to think that for many Italians, he was not joking. I have been trying since
Friday to get a repairman here for the air conditioner. Today, the guy’s phone
wasn’t even turned on. He was the person recommended by anyone and any store I
asked. So I called a repairman who works on washing machines, and he gave me a
number for a different guy. That guy was here in less than 15 minutes, and was
out of here with a job well done in less than 20 minutes. So my tour guide 10
years ago was only half kidding around.
After we got the AC working, mom and I headed out to the
beach. We got there late and stayed late, with me broiling my skin red for the
first day in the sun. Only 29 more days, though a strong sun screen cream will
be applied tomorrow. The Adriatic Sea was calm today, and warm, like a bathtub
warm. It was about 97 today as well. When we left the house, we had left the AC
running. When we returned, it reminded me of walking into the meat packing
plants in Philly ask a kid with my dad. I didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh
of relief from the stifling heat, or order a case of salami.
Mom and I both took a rest once we got back, the first time
I laid down without sweating all season. Tonight at midnight, there are
supposed to be fireworks at the beach.
