When having a fan is a bad thing

I have a fan.

I bet you’re thinking, “Big deal, KZ! With your sharp wit, charming personality and good looks, that’s to be expected.”

But no, it’s not that kind of fan.
I mean the electric appliance.
You know, the kind you use when you’re hot.

No, not THAT appliance.

The fan I’m referring to is “a machine using an electric motor to rotate thin, rigid vanes in order to move air, as for cooling”.

Got it?? Great. Let’s move on.

As I was saying, I have a fan.

This fan is a hand down from my parents. I really appreciate it, ‘cause this room of mine can be quite the furnace after a while.

Here is the fan, in short:
The good news: it works
The bad news: as any discarded appliance, it’s starting to break down, so it takes quite the expertise just to turn it on.

So this is what happens on a typical night. You’re hot, and you want to activate your fan. After pushing all the buttons in a chaotic manner, it starts to function. The blades are spinning, the air is getting circulated and a nice current is starting. So far, so good, right? But then, as it starts to heat up, it begins to make a horrid noise. It’s the most annoying and loud kind of noise you’ve ever heard. It’s like Tarzan’s yell, plus a wounded elephant and a rattling airplane motor, all rolled into one.

Being quite the tech expert, you proceed to remedy the situation in the way you deal with all malfunctioning machinery: you smack it, jiggle it, shake it, hit it and abuse it until it stops making the racket.

Ah, the noise is gone, the air is cool. You have vanquished the infamous Evil Fan.

Everything is right with the world, once again.