[Send your open letters to websubmissions@mcsweeneys.net.] - - - - A N O P E N L E T T E R T O
May 13, 2004 Dear New Furnace, Hey, how's it going? You look great! You getting along OK? Awesome, awesome. If there's anything you need, or if you have any questions, whatever, just ask. That shouldn't be a problem for you. You've certainly been making enough noise since you arrived. I really want you to feel comfortable here. It's always kind of rough being the new kid on the block. Believe me, I know! But hey, you know who feels worse than you right now? The porch. You're probably thinking, "What porch?" Am I right? Well, I'm talking about the porch that isn't getting built in the spring because I seem to have "misplaced" the three thousand dollars I had earmarked for it. Isn't that strange? You haven't seen three thousand dollars lying around anywhere, have you? No? I should probably also mention that the furnace before you sometimes used to find it fun to actually heat my bedroom. So if you're bored and are looking for something to do, you might try that out. You are a furnace, after all. Best,
PS: You might want to watch that intake. I'm not saying you're too big, but the contractor from J. P. Laird & Son didn't tear down that basement wall in front of you just for kicks. Dear Old Furnace, When we first met one month ago, I was proud to make your acquaintance. You were the only part of the house that had not been replaced by Lou Luziano when he renovated last summer. Because of this, I thought you a proud, honest survivor. A veteran appliance in a house full of flashy fiberglass toilets, taupe walls, and halogen lights. I had hoped you would be the living history to unite the inexperienced. You certainly looked the part. Part of you wore a German sticker; one of your pipes was engraved with Chinese. You had "consensus builder" written all over you. Literally. So there must have been some Canadian in you as well. I didn't like watching you leave. It tore me to pieces. Wait—not me, you. So many sooty, jagged pieces. The contractor from J. P. Laird & Son said it was the only way. If I hadn't been so emotional at the time, perhaps I would have had the strength to argue with him. I wouldn't have physically resisted, though. He was so large, and I am small like a girl. But then, you already knew that. And what do I know? I know you were tired. I know it's cold outside; I know it all too well. Because after you quit, you didn't just take the warmth from my bedroom—you stripped the warmth from my heart. Go now, cold soul. I hope your eternal rest is as peaceful as my slumber last night (for the first time this month I didn't wake up shivering). Warm regards,
PS: Why didn't you have a reset button? Every furnace has a reset button. Weirdo. —Jose Avelino Gilles Corbett Lourenco - - - -
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