Ever since I was little, my parents have liked to call me the “abominable snowgirl”. I am comfortable in low temperatures; I can go out in -10°C (14°F) in a T-shirt and shorts, take trash to the curb, come back inside, and not even be shivering. 15°C (59°F) is my sweet-spot for long-term relaxation in the comfort of my own home, and I won’t even bother to cover up. 

My parents, on the other hand, are quite comfortable in the heat. 25°C (77°F) is just fine and dandy for them; meanwhile, I will be swimming in my own sweat. In the winter, that was fine by me, because I could open my window and chill the enclosed environment of my bedroom, but the summers were unbearable. As I reached my teenage years, my frustrations boiled over, and I asked my parents to get me air conditioning – just a window-mounted unit for my bedroom, so I could at least have my room be a temperature I enjoy.

Dad: “Not happening. You don’t need air conditioning.”

Me: “Just because YOU don’t need air conditioning doesn’t mean I’M not gonna melt!”

Dad: ” [My Name], summer is SUPPOSED to be hot.”

Me: “Winter is supposed to be cold! Why do you always have the heat running?”

Credit where credit is due: Dad put his money where his mouth is. He did explain to me that pipes tend to burst if the water inside them freezes, and that you should NEVER turn your heat ALL the way off in cold weather. But that winter, he only kept the heat high enough to keep the water running.

I enjoyed myself. Mom and Dad were MISERABLE. They wore sweaters pretty much perpetually, from the first snowfall until things had thawed completely. They started having hot baths instead of showers and would frequently go straight into bed under a lot of blankets before they were even fully dry. We ate (and I was introduced to) a lot of dishes that needed to spend a long time in the oven, and the oven door would be left open after the oven was turned off to let the heat leak out into the kitchen.

The next summer, I had an AC unit in my bedroom window.

The pool attendants, lifeguards, and I are being vigilant of the weather today, as we’re expecting a potential storm later. Suddenly, there’s a loud crack of thunder.

Me: “Hi, everyone! I’m afraid we’re going to have to temporarily vacate the pool. That was a loud one! You’ll all be able to re-enter when the storm passes.”

Swimmer: “Why?”

Me: “It’s policy to evacuate the pool during a lightning storm.”

Swimmer: “But that was just thunder! Let me know when there’s lightning!”

I worked at a pizza place for several years as a teenager, including during the Brisbane floods of 2011. Half the roads in the area we delivered to were closed, and residents were flooded in.

Caller: “I want to order a pizza!”

When a customer calls on the phone number linked to their account, we automatically see their name and address in their order history.

Me: “Madam, if this is to be delivered to your home address, then I’m afraid we can’t do that today. Your area is experiencing floods and—”

Caller: “—I know! I can see a river outside my window where my street used to be!”

Me: “…So, you understand why we can’t deliver today?”

Caller: “Uh… no?! I can’t drive out, so you have to bring the pizza to me! That’s why I’m f****** ordering!”

Me: “Madam, if you can’t drive in or out of your street, our drivers can’t either.”

Caller: “That’s what the delivery fee is for you f****** idiot!”

Me: “Sure, b****, just hold on a sec while I fire up the chopper.” *Click.*

We let her multiple call backs ring out until she got the hint.

I hail from the farthest north of Sweden, where temperatures in the winter at times reach -30⁰C but I lived in the capital and worked as an assistant chef when this story took place a few years ago. During a cold snap of -16 and a lot of snow, our Italian-born, middle-aged chef comes into the kitchen and takes a 1kg bag of salt. It’s quite early, before we open for the day.

Me: “What’re you gonna do?”

Chef: “We cannot open the kitchen door, we have a lot of ice around the kitchen entrance, I’m gonna melt it.”

Me: “With salt?”

Chef: “Yeah. Google said it works!”

Me: “Good idea, but it’s too cold for that to work today, because of the chemistry involved. I don’t remember the exact numbers, but I think it has to be -8 or warmer. You need to break it loose in this cold.”

Chef: “Shut up! Salt melts ice. Google says so! Do you know more than Google?”

Me: “No, but I’m from the north. I know ice, cold, and snow, that’s why I moved away. We even did the experiments in high school to prove it. I can break the ice with a hammer, if you want.”

Chef: “I know more! I’m a lot older than you!”

Me: “And from Italy. If we were talking about how to survive Italian summer heat, I would trust you with my life.”

Chef: “I’m older! I’m wiser!”

Me: “Okay then. Just don’t use it all. That’s our last salt.”

Chef: “Shut up!”

And so, he went. He returned with an empty salt bag, seething.

Chef: “What did you do?”

Me: “What?

Chef: “It didn’t work! How did you stop the salt from melting the ice?

Me: “I cannot control the forces of nature. As I said, salt can only melt ice if…

Chef: “Shut up! You have given me bad salt!

Me: “Didn’t you take it from the shelf?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and threw the empty bag at me.

Chef: “Shut up! Go buy more salt!”

Me: “I’ll ask [Boss] first.”

Chef: “No need! I decide what you do!”

I talked to our boss first. It ended with the chef buying the salt and breaking the ice loose with a hammer. He quit soon after, securing me a nice promotion.

One morning, I woke up to find snow had completely shrouded my (admittedly small) bedroom window. I make my way out to the (much larger) living room window and find snow coming down so hard I can’t see the road. Sure enough, my weather app has an alert telling me that there is a stay-home advisory in effect due to unsafe weather for driving. Fine by me; I crawl back into bed and try to get back to sleep. 

My phone rings within half an hour. It’s my manager.

Manager: “Hey, just want to let you know that you are still coming in today.”

I laugh into the line and hang up.

My manager calls again before the minute changes.

Manager: “Do you think I’m joking? You’re scheduled for today. You’re coming in to work.”

Me: “Do YOU think I’m stupid enough to get into a car and drive in this weather? Not happening.”

I hang up. My body has fully booted up and acknowledged an empty stomach, so falling asleep again is no longer an option. I’m on my way to the kitchen when my phone rings again.

Manager: “If you don’t come in today, you’re fired.”

Me: “Cool. I’ll come get my last paycheck when the weather clears up.”

I hang up yet again and make myself breakfast.

The next day, I got a call from my manager’s boss. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one he tried to demand come into work yesterday, and not everyone had the courage to say no like I did. Some of them had accidents on their way to work. (I later learned that none of them were more serious than “didn’t stay on the road, hit something that damaged my car more than my car damaged it,” but still.) I was assured that if I still wanted my job, I was not, in fact, fired for staying home during a stay-home advisory. 

I agreed to those terms and came into work a day later to find my manager was no longer employed there.