I wouldn’t consider myself a serial procrastinator.
When it comes to getting things done, I usually get around to doing them quickly. I learned a long time ago that procrastination equals stress — the bad kind of stress — not the stress that motivates and inspires.
But while I don’t do it often, when I do indulge in the practice of procrastination, I am what you could consider a championship caliber procrastinathlete. If procrastination were an Olympic sport, I’d be a multiple gold medalist.
Recently I had the honor of demonstrating my skills.
Here’s the scenario.
Six months ago, the air conditioner in my house decided it was tired of being an air conditioner and chose to exhale coolish air. At first I ignored this, blaming the start of a season of hotter-than-usual temperatures in South Florida.
Now, before you think I just sat around doing nothing but pay my ever-rising electric bill, you should know that I did take action to confirm that my air conditioner was in fact not conditioning anything but Florida Power & Light’s profits.
My neighbor down the block has a friend who is in the business. He’s done work for me before, so I called him out to check my system.
He confirmed I had some kind of leak, sprayed dye in the system and added freon twice. But he never followed up on checking the source of the leak so I blamed him for my procrastination.
Then another friend of a friend who also happens to be in the business checked and confirmed something was wrong. O even went through the motions of asking him to find the best replacement model for us. But alas, he was a procrastinator too, so nothing ever came of it.
Finally, I paid for a tuneup which confirmed all of the above. That, at least, inspired the research where I actually found the system we wanted, had four estimates and then sat on them while making other plans.
Still, the folder with the information and estimates sat on the kitchen counter for two weeks unopened.
And then it happened. It sounded like … well, nothing. That’s because despite the fact that the unit inside the house was humming away, blowing air into the house , the outside unit was frighteningly quiet.
The coolish air turned freakishly hot. And well, so did I.
I thought if I turned off the breaker and turned it back on it would coax the thing back to life.
That idea worked, well … not so much.
The breaker turned off fine but when I tried to turn it back on, I heard what sounded like a milliion bees buzzing during a power surge.
If electricity could laugh, that’s what it would sound like.
Every light in the house flickered. All the appliances gasped.
And so, I was left with no choice but to do what I should have done in the first place. I made the call to have the new system installed.
“We can have someone out tomorrow,” the technician said to me.
“Tomorrow? Really?” I replied, as my procrastination muscle made one final flex to see if I could stall for more time. A drop of sweat rolled down my face, clinching the deal.
Meanwhile, I got to enjoy 36 hours of hotness. And I learned a valuable lesson: being hot definitely is not cool.
Thank goodness the company I chose to do the job does not procrastinate. They were out the next day and by 6 p.m., I was cool again.
Hot is well, hot. But being cool is better.