The Story of the Suicidal Fan

Elkford has been a much hotter place to live than I originally anticipated. Of course, part of that is probably due to being on the third floor, facing the evening sun. But still, it's been 33 degrees quite steadily for about the past month. I think my apartment in Egypt was cooler than the one I have now. Hard to say due to the fact that I've gone through another Canadian winter since then and have probably been reclimatized to Canadian weather. At any rate, sleeping has been difficult in this steady heat.

Luckily, while complaining to friends about the sweltering heat in our apartment, Aaron (with an 'a') mentioned that they probably had a fan they could lend me. After a peek downstairs, Kristine (with a 'k') came up with a small retro fan. It was a light blue thing that weighed as though it was made entirely of metal. And it probably was, too. The actual fan portion of it could probably double as a boat propeller. The grill on the front of the fan was not much of a grill, either. You could probably stick your fist in there and lose your entire hand. At any rate, I think it is safe to say that this fan was not built to run through the entire night, day after day, week after week. My first clue to this was when I would wake up in the morning and notice that my bedroom was much hotter than any other room in the apartment. I put my hand over the back of the fan and felt waves of heat billowing out of it. Had the surface been fit for cooking an egg, I certainly could have cooked an egg on it.

That was the first problem with that fan. The next problem was that it had a slight rattle to it. It wasn't so bad at first, but each day it seemed to get louder and more annoying. Last night the rattle was so bad that I couldn't even sleep. I lay there, glaring at the fan, willing it to stop rattling. Soon, my wish came true. The fan jumped off the chair it was sitting on and made a giant leap towards my bed. It tried too kill me! Now, when I say it 'jumped' off the chair, I probably mean it fell... but that doesn't make for a very exciting story now, does it? Anyways, that murderous fan jumped to its death, for upon landing, the metal propeller dislodged from it and started clawing at the sad excuse of a grill. Clearly the propeller was making a last ditch effort to kill me. I pulled the plug as it repeatedly bashed against the metal grill. It lay there, motionless. Dead. That was the end of the suicidal retro fan.

There is a happy ending to this story, though. Not for the crazy suicidal retro fan, but for me. I was telling the pastor of my church about the super crazy suicidal retro fan before church started this morning. He couldn't bear the thought of me trying to sleep in my hot apartment without a fan, so during the announcements, he told the congregation about my great need for a fan. Now I sit in my apartment with not one, but TWO working fans, one of which is massive. Tonight I shall sleep like a baby. May that super crazy killer suicidal retro fan rest in pieces. The end.