Bad. Very bad.
The quality is as poor as the supply: Light bulbs dim
like tired, resentful candles. Robust fans slow to a sluggish limp.
Air-conditioners bleat and groan and make sounds they were not made to make,
their halfhearted cooling leaving the air clammy. In this assault of low
voltage, the compressor of an air-conditioner suffers — the compressor is its
heart, and it is an expensive heart to replace. Once, my guest room
air-conditioner caught fire. The room still bears the scars, the narrow lines
between floor tiles smoke-stained black.
Sometimes the light goes off and on and off and on, and
bulbs suddenly brighten as if jerked awake, before dimming again. Things spark
and snap. A curl of smoke rises from the water heater. I feel myself at the
mercy of febrile malignant powers, and I rush to pull my laptop plug out of the
wall. Later, electricians are summoned and they diagnose the problem with the
ease of a long acquaintance. The current is too high or too low, never quite
right. A wire has melted. Another compressor will need to be replaced.
