I’ve been fighting with my radiators pretty much constantly since November. I’m endlessly grateful for a well-heated apartment, but that doesn’t mean I’m overly fond of the radiators’ constant hissing and spitting. Nor do I care for their high-pitched whine, the whine that builds and builds until it triumphantly crescendos in a loud thunk, before starting over with another round of high-pitched whining.
The radiator in my bedroom is a particular nuisance, as its whine/bang cycle is both loud and unpredictable. I have fiddled with its little dials on numerous occasions, but have yet to figure out how to just turn the f-ing thing off. I blame my West Coast upbringing (where climate-controlled air is piped through vents in the ceilings and floors and not through infernal metal contraptions) for my inability to operate 19th century radiator technology.
Anyway, last night the bedroom radiator was feeling particularly frolicsome, producing a veritable symphony of hissing and whining and clanging. Until suddenly the boyfriend jumped out of bed and manhandled the radiator dials for a few moments.
Then the room fell into blessed, blessed silence.
We both paused, stunned at the sudden absence of sound. I said “Oh my god, do you hear that?” I meant, of course, did he hear how blissfully quiet it was in the bedroom.
He responded: “Yes, it’s the sound of me being THE MAN.”
He's a keeper.