Blast of perspective

Even during the heavy rains this spring, I kept hearing a one-word warning. People weren’t trying to scare me, just to prepare me for the season ahead.

Heat. As in the heat, a rare downside in this community of upsides. Blaring, blasting, searing, dry, molten—pick your favorite adjective, and a well-intentioned Chicoan surely used it in a weather advisory.

I’m used to it, actually—I come from an inland desert climate. Here, at least, the air is more blue than brown around the century mark on the thermometer.

What I’m not used to is nearing the century mark on the thermostat.

My apartment’s air conditioner became, shall we say, inconsistent the first time it spiked toward 110. I came home that Thursday evening to a 97-degree living room and my dog on the bed under a ceiling fan.

After a half-dozen repair visits, we got to a point where the a/c worked reasonably well for about four hours before freezing up. I programmed a “melt break” in the mid-afternoon, so I’d get highs only in the low- to mid-80s with a chance of precipitation on my brow.

But just when I was tempted to print invitations to a pity party, I came across something that slapped me across the face like a wet towel (and not the cool one I draped over my head in the heat).

Through the slot on the office door came a letter, handwritten and signed, “Homeless + Hating It.” It begins: “I am a homeless woman living in Chico. Lately there has been a problem finding restrooms to use.” She explained she camps near campus and the facilities she normally uses had been locked, leaving her with nowhere to go. “Most towns have public parks with bathrooms, even gas stations—SOMEWHERE to unload bodily waste.”

After an unsavory description of the alternative, she concluded: “Unpleasant as this subject may be to some, I felt a little attention needed to be directed toward true human needs for the public who naturally take their bathroom privileges for granted.”

There are varying degrees of discomfort. Sure, my apartment should be cool; I pay good money for a unit with central air. Yet even as I sweated, I had a place to take care of personal business, and take a soothing shower to boot.

Street corners and park benches don’t have cooling beyond the bit of shade an overhang or branch provides. I think about that from time to time as I pass sidewalk sitters downtown. But I hadn’t carried my thoughts to the next level … until that letter, and the descriptions of street life in our June 29 cover story ("Homeless no more"), gave me a blast of perspective more bracing than the chilly air finally flowing through my home.

Other people have far bigger problems than waiting for service on the phone, cable and cooling system. Even when I’m unlucky, I’m fortunate—and I’m not alone in either case.