Hot. Sweltering. All words that one could apply to hell; or the back seat of my grandmother’s 2007 Lexus- really, though, that’s the same difference. I love my grandmother so much, but that adoration in no way extends to her cracked-leather-seated jalopy of a car. When she would come and pick me up from school in that thing, I dreaded it. The seats were so hot, my thighs melted to them; or, at the very least, it certainly felt like it. I had to peel myself off of that backseat every day. The seatbelt was so hot, and the metal bit burned your hand if you touched it by accident- it was unforgiving. As soon as you stepped into that sauna-on-wheels, there was sweat at the back of your neck. Your thighs started sticking to the seat, the heated leather bonding to your sweaty skin. You already started to feel the temperature rise, the blood rush that gave off the pink-tinged smile of a third-grader going through preliminary heat stroke symptoms. Those car rides were nothing short of sweltering suffocation; but there was one saving grace. At the end of that drive, there was the sweet, sweet relief of my grandmother’s house, which was equipped with the best invention of all- air conditioning. When the car finally pulled to a stop, my sister and I were racing towards the front door before the hula-dancer on the dashboard stopped dancing. We would sit in front of the ac vent for an hour at least, enjoying the cold air over our sweaty skin. That air conditioner was truly a life saver- and though I hated the heat of those car rides, the euphoric sensation of a burst of cold air blowing over you when you’re overheated is almost unmatched.