Walking through the snow and all I could think about was the hot water cylinder. The warmth that water would produce in my body is nearly unimaginable at this point. There are icicles forming at the end of my nose and fingers. Feeling my toes is a privilege I have long since forgotten. My shoes, not exactly built for 6 inches of snow, are a mix of soggy and frozen. Sometimes I think I feel ice forming between my foot and the shoe, I’m too scared to check. Taking my foot out of shoe would be leaving it completely open to the elements, far away from the comfort of warmth produced by a hot water cylinder.
A hot water cylinder, if you didn’t know, is a thing of magic. I’m not sure exactly how it works but I am sure it does. It has never ever let me down. Producing boiling hot water at the touch of a button, it is perfect for multiple uses. That cup of tea you’ve been craving all day or eliminating the waiting time for your shower, or in this case something to defrost the frozen substance accumulating underneath my foot.
I walk on trying to push the thoughts of a hot water cylinder to the back of my head. The events of the past 30 minutes travel around my head as if they are in a washing machine, wash, rinse, repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat. Heat seems like a distant memory but it was only just over half an hour ago that I was sitting in a car with one of my best friends. We were just coming out of the city, the sprawling suburbs had given way to forests, kilometres of forests, with a sleek white blanket covering them, it looked magical, but cold. Not that I thought it would happen, but I knew if you were left alone in a place like this, my thoughts would turn to the beauty of a hot water cylinder sooner rather than later.
Ironically, what led to this terrible turn of events was an argument about a hot water cylinder. Well, it was a discussion at first, which quickly turned into a heated one, excuse the pun. My friend, now possibly ex-friend decided in all his wisdom that if he had the choice about what method he would use to heat water, he would choose the old fashioned one. One that heated homes, rather inefficiently in my opinion, for years upon years. He argued that there was no need for change. That if his grandparents were able to survive why she he be any different, why couldn’t we keep the old way. He, it is fair to say, is a traditionalist, living in the 21st century but with a mind entrenched in the 20th.
I argued back that a hot water cylinder was the future of heat in the house. It was efficient, inexpensive and good for the environment. I couldn’t fathom how he held the opposite opinion. I was beginning to question not just his sanity, but mine too for being friends with him in the first place.
Our argument continued at length but as we continued, we both began to get more agitated, things turned personal and shortly after I found myself trudging through the snow with my wet shoes, my wet socks and a pang of regret. I’m not sure what we were both thinking becoming so agitated but when you truly believe in something’s quality, you have to stick up for it and that’s what I did when it came to the hot water cylinder.
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