My boiler went out on me. For those of you who live in the First World, let me explain what a boiler is. A boiler is a huge, obnoxious contraption that hangs on the bathroom wall and goes out on you, forcing you to take cold showers, and shave with icy-cold razors that, as Davy Jones promised all those years ago, do indeed sting. In America, I’ve never seen a boiler. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist; it just means they’re at least hidden and don’t go out on you. This particular boiler, which I’ve learned to ignore over the years, is about 5 feet tall, a foot deep, and 2 feet wide. It’s made of steel, is painted white, and hangs on the wall right next to the bathtub. It blocks an entire corner of the room ,and sometimes it drips black, greasy, evil smelling fluids onto the floor. Now it doesn’t even make hot water, so I’m not sure what the point of the thing is.

I’m a vegetarian; I separate my trash, because otherwise the trash-men won’t take it; I have socialized health care; I recycle, because I have to; and, now, I hate bathing. Living in Europe is just like being in college, without the drugs and smug illusion of superiority. Objectively, I’m more pinker than even the pinkest of American pinkos.

Damn dirty hippy.