A few summers ago, I took a trip to the coast with a friend. She grew up in the area, and wanted to take me to her favorite restaurant, claiming that they had the best clam chowder she’d ever had. When we arrived at the restaurant for dinner one evening, the hostess’s makeup was practically melting off of her face, and her pained smile was haloed by a sheen of moisture on her upper lip. “Good evening, ladies,” she said. “Unfortunately, we’re having a bit of a problem with our air conditioning system, but if you can handle it, you’re more than welcome to stay and dine with us.” I wasn’t enthusiastic about sitting in a sweltering restaurant while the cooling system was down, but my friend begged me to stay and try to chowder. I reluctantly agreed, and we took our seats at a high-top; I had hoped that the high-top would get our heads closer to the vents, where the fan was blowing lukewarm air for circulation. After our appetizer, the waiter noticed my sweating and apologized: “Our HVAC technician is in the attic now. He says that our air conditioning equipment is having a condensation problem.” “So am I,” I responded, fanning my damp forehead. I tried to order a chilled gazpacho soup, but my friend stopped me halfway through my order. “She’ll have the chowder. You won’t regret it!” I didn’t contest, but I was dreading eating hot soup in a restaurant without a working cooling system. I eventually laid eyes on a sweaty HVAC technician, who was defeatedly shaking his head while speaking to the hostess. When my chowder came, I think my body temperature climbed another ten degrees. While the chowder was delicious, I would have preferred it with a side of air conditioning!