My name is Eric, I’m 31, and I rent the upper unit of an old duplex in Minneapolis, Minnesota. If you’ve ever lived in the Midwest, you know one universal truth: when winter starts creeping in, the heat better work.
Apparently my landlord did not get that memo.
Last week the temperature dropped suddenly overnight. I woke up in the morning and immediately knew something was wrong because my apartment felt like I had accidentally slept inside a refrigerator.
I checked the thermostat.
It said 38°F inside the apartment.
At first I thought maybe the thermostat was broken, but then I noticed something else: the radiators were completely cold. No heat at all.
I texted my landlord and asked if something was wrong with the heating system. A couple hours later he replied with a message that I wish I had saved word-for-word.
“Oops, forgot to switch the building back to heat after summer.”
Forgot.
As if turning on the heat in Minnesota during fall is some optional seasonal decoration.
He said he’d try to “get to it soon.”
Meanwhile the apartment kept getting colder. By that evening I was wearing two hoodies and a winter jacket while sitting inside my own living room.
The next day he showed up with what he described as a temporary solution.
A tiny beige space heater that looked like it had survived several decades.
I’m pretty sure the brand logo had faded sometime during the Clinton administration.
He plugged it in, turned the dial, and said, “This should help until I get the system running.”
The heater made a loud buzzing sound and produced approximately the same amount of warmth as a toaster.
The best part was that he placed it in the living room and seemed to think that somehow the heat would magically circulate through the entire apartment.
My bedroom still felt like an Arctic research station.
That night I ended up sleeping in sweatpants, a hoodie, socks, and two blankets. I could literally see my breath when I got up to get water.
Out of curiosity I checked the weather outside.
It was 30°F outside.
Meaning my apartment was somehow only eight degrees warmer than the outdoors.
I texted my landlord again asking when the actual heating system would be turned back on.
He responded, “Working on it.”
That was three days ago.
The space heater is still humming in the corner like a tiny protest against winter.
At this point I’m starting to feel like I accidentally signed a lease for a historic cold storage facility.
If the heat isn’t back on soon, I might start charging the landlord rent for using my apartment as a walk-in freezer.