I Don't Know What to Make of Our Radiators

I truly don’t. Never in my life have I come across a household device that, despite its benevolent function, is absolutely terrifying when put into use. I guess part of it has to do with a lack of experience with radiators. Coming from sensible parts of the country where houses were built closer in time to the information age than the industrial revolution I am accustomed to furnaces. Furnaces, as you may know, are a home heating method that use ducts and vents to ferry hot air to rooms in need of it. Radiators, on the other hand, are like hateful bike racks that live in corners of rooms serving no function other than to get hot and make terrifying noises. Let me use the word a third time in this paragraph: terrifying.

My issue with these things is not the fact that they fail miserably at what they’re supposed to do (make a space livably warm). That’s to be expected, as they can only heat the air immediately surrounding them, at which point said heated air immediately rises to the ceiling and becomes cool again. I get why radiators suck. What I don’t get is why they have to sound like they are furious with me whenever they are in sucky operation. On Monday I woke up scared, actually scared of the god damn hunk of metal in the room with me. It was clanking, and whistling, and hissing, and sighing. I didn’t know what to think, part of me was concerned that it was preparing to launch itself into space like some kind of steampunk Sputnik. Another part of me thought that maybe an angry badger was trapped inside it, a badger that could turn itself into vapor like the lamer Wonder Twin. It was very early in the morning, I will not try to defend my ideas. I now, however, have a greater appreciation for one of history’s worst films.

What I want to say here is fuck radiators.