HVAC in Louisiana is a fight with wet air, a hot attic, and equipment that cools a room without drying it. If the closet mildews, the coil freezes, or a gallery-level room never feels dry, say so. Temperature alone is the wrong report. Say whether the towels dry.
South of the hills, the load is moisture. An oversized blast of cold that shuts off leaves the walls clammy and the floor cupping. Raised houses often have ducts in a hot attic or no ducts at all, with window units and ductless heads doing single rooms while the hall stays wild. Slab ranches in Baton Rouge and Lafayette hide air handlers in closets and attics that bake the air before it arrives. Crawl and underfloor ducts sweat themselves loose.
Coils slime over fast. Filters pack. A drain pan overflows and stains a ceiling that gets blamed on the roof. Salt and wet air nearer the coast rust disconnects and outdoor cabinets. In Shreveport and Monroe the summer is still heavy, and a winter night can still demand heat that a neglected strip or a tired heat pump will not deliver. A pad that sinks in soft soil twists the fan until it rubs. Say what you hear.
Look at the outdoor unit. Fan running or silent, line iced or bare, cabinet crooked or sound. Inside, name the rooms that stay wet and the rooms that stay hot. A whistle at a return means the system is starving. Water at the handler means the drain failed. Those are different from a compressor that never starts. A musty smell that never leaves is its own fact. Do not call it a dirty filter and stop looking if the pan is overflowing.
Call with the town and the house form. Raised cottage with window units, slab ranch with an attic handler, two-story with heat trapped upstairs. Say what the storm did if the equipment got wet, and what the equipment does on an ordinary humid day if there was no storm. Start with the room that will not dry. The brand can wait. The water in the air cannot. Call the number on this page.