My parents added an addition to our house when I was ten years old. Once it was finished, we made one of the rooms in the addition my new bedroom. The problem started as soon as summer hit and my room was unbearably hot. It did not help that I kept the door closed, but because of that, there would be a blast of air whenever it was opened to prove the problem was my room. No matter what my parents did to the air conditioner panel, it never improved.
Eventually, my dad declared he found the problem.
Dad: “It’s [My Name]’s windows. Those idiots never sealed them, so all the air is leaking out.”
Me: “But then shouldn’t my room have been cold in the winter? I had the hottest room in the house last winter.”
Dad: “I’m telling you it’s the windows. We need to call [Window Company] and honor that contract and warranty.”
So began the big war that lasted years. A surveyor for the company came out and inspected the windows, but assured us they were sealed. My dad called him a liar and demanded he replace the windows. The company pushed back, not willing to do free labor and parts for work they insisted they already performed. Eventually, my dad got a lawyer involved and an independent contractor to examine the windows and sign an affidavit. The contractor agreed that the windows were sealed. In this time, I too had gotten curious, and, with a little help from my bed, examined as well, and I could not find a leak in my windows either. My dad, however, kept complaining about liars and windows.
This whole process dragged on for so long that our warranty had expired by the time my dad finally agreed to hire a new team to do the work. So now, instead of having someone who could assess the windows, fix the “problem,” and sign a statement saying that my dad was right so we could make the first company pay them, we had to pay for this out of pocket.
While my dad was happy the work was done, my room was still hot during the summer, and now it was cold as the weather turned. And my blinds rattled on windy days. This team actually *did* fail to seal the windows…somewhat; apparently they believed sealing was done by applying the adhesive not in the cracks, but *around* the cracks since the base of my blinds and the cord got stuck to the sill.
My dad got the lawyer involved again, and this time we got the work done for free again along with new blinds, so my room was back to normal. But “normal” means my room was still hot during the summer.
So now that we ruled out the windows, my dad made a new declaration.
Dad: “It’s the walls. Those idiots didn’t put any insulation in.”
Me: “But that still doesn’t explain why the climate control only fails in the summer.”
Dad: “I’m telling you it’s the insulation.”
Me: “Y’know, you said this about the windows.”
Dad: “I’m right this time!”
With the warranty no longer valid, my dad skipped the hard part of fighting the company that installed our walls, siding, and (supposedly) insulation and went straight to a third party. In that time, I went downstairs to the old part of the house, and something happened that made me realize how much taller I had gotten. I was now tall enough for the rush of air from the vents to be discernible.
The top of my head was still only slightly affected, but raising my hand brought it close enough to make a major difference. I went back to my room and tested my vent. Nothing. I got my dad.
Me: “It wasn’t the windows, and it’s not the walls. It’s the vents. Something’s wrong with my vent. Just feel it.” *I raise my hand.* “You should be able to feel it from here.”
Dad: “No, it’s the walls. We need to get new walls that have insulation.”
Me: “Dad, just raise your hand! You can feel the difference!” *I walk to my parents’ bedroom.* “Just compare it against the same spot he… actually, that doesn’t feel right, either.”
My parents’ vent had a gust, but not nearly as powerfully as the vent downstairs in the old part of the house. But my dad ignored my concerns and focused on the walls. So next spring we had someone pull our siding and expose the bounty of insulation packed within our walls. After this team and I made an effort to flatten our foreheads, the work was completed, and this time we knew *for sure* the addition had sealed windows and insulated walls. And to the surprise of absolutely no one except my parents, my room was still unbearably hot.
The following summer, our air conditioner would break completely. Finally, my dad called an HVAC company to fix it. And in the course of the visit, I made sure to stress my room’s heat and my findings on the vents. The duo went up to the attic to figure it out, but then one poked out his head.
HVAC Man: “Can one of you get me a trash bag and a broom?”
Me: *Returning with the items.* “What is it?”
HVAC Man: “Not sure; it’s why I want the broom.”
He disappears into the attic for a bit with a lot of banging and cursing. When he finally comes down with a full trash bag, he starts walking down the hall.
HVAC Man: “What’s this room?”
Me: “My bedroom.”
HVAC Man: “The one that’s always hot?”
Me: “Correct.”
HVAC Man: “Makes sense. This vent was never hooked in.
Me: “Seriously?”
HVAC Man: “Nothing. Everything that should have gone through here was just blowing into the attic. Oh, and where’s your trash?”
Me: “Barrels are in the garage. Why, what’d you find?”
HVAC Man: *Holds up the bag.* “Newspaper. Based on how old these articles are, it was the packing used for transport; make sure it didn’t get damaged and all that. Whoever installed your vents unwrapped the outsides but never unpacked the insides. It’s why your vents weren’t blowing that hard up here. And based on what I saw, this obstruction is what pushed your AC too hard and burned it out.”
Me: “…Say all of that again to my dad, please!”
My dad got the lawyer again. Since he spent so long fighting about the windows and looking for someone to do the walls, our window to sue the original HVAC installer had closed, so my parents had to pay for all of this, too.
So we bought windows we did not need, walls and insulation we did not need, paid for an air conditioner repair that should have been covered, and my forehead has perpetually had an imprint of my hand all because my dad would not throw up his hands.
