I made arrangements for Dave to come by one evening at 6, allowing me to pick up Sarah at school and still come home to see what it was afflicting our light. He was right there at the hour, and after some getting caught up, we took a look at the offending light fixture.
He asked if the 60w bulb I had was the one that was in it; I said yes but it was a new bulb and I knew it worked because I'd tried it in another socket. I screwed it into the kitchen light socket and then Dave flipped the switch.
The sink was immediately flooded with light.
"Oh, come ON!" I shouted. "Come ON! This isn't funny," I wailed, as my friend and electrician smiled slightly. I flipped the switch on and off a few times for good measure; each time, the light responded as it should.
Dave patiently explained that the recessed light fixtures all have a thermostat, and when heat builds up (yes, we leave that light on overnight), it will eventually shut down and need to cool itself before it will work again. A swirly-bulb will help since it doesn't throw as much heat, but really, that's about it. He shouldered his bag again (never really opened it), and refused payment for his time ("took me longer to get here than anything I did here," he said), so I gave him one of David's football team's discount cards instead. A few more "You have GOT to be kidding me"s and he was gone.
I am not mechanically inclined; electricity and I don't mix. And yet I'm still enough of a "guy" to really, r-e-a-l-l-y not like having to call another guy over to do something I "should" know how to do. I know I have to call someone when the furnace isn't working right; that's beyond what a "guy" ought to know how to fix. But common plumbing problems, or basic wiring, it's hard enough to swallow what little pride I have and make the call to get some other guy over here to do my work. And now, in that most classic of ironies, the problem has completely gone away by the time the other guy shows up.
Again, all I can say is it's a mercy to have an electrician who's also a friend and who, apart from some ribbing tonight at Bible study, probably won't mention it again. I know him well enough that on returning home that night, he probably just told Krystal that "oh, it was pretty simple, no big deal" and didn't regale her, in full laughter, with my electrical humiliation. And for that, more than his advice about recessed-lighting thermostat capabilities, I'm more than grateful.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Fun With Electricity, Part I
Church conveys many benefits: forgiveness, communion, fellowship, and a chance to experience the Divine each week. It also might be a place to find a really understanding electrician.
Dave has been part of our Sunday evening men's group and, until switching congregations this summer, a regular member of our church. Over the course of the last few years I've come to know and trust him, and so when we needed some electrical work done around the house a couple of years ago, he was there--on time, professional, and did a fine job for us. We've since had him back for some attic fans and other projects. So when the light over the kitchen sink failed to work a couple of weeks ago, I knew just what to do.
That's right...tried to fix it myself.
You see, I had done so a year or so ago; the light had failed to work, so I replaced the socket unit in the recessed light. Hm, that wasn't it. So I replaced the 20+-year-old light switch in the wall by the sink: bingo. That did it, we were back in the light business, and I knew I had both the switch and the light unit good to go for years to come.
Until one day I couldn't get the @!#$%^ thing to come on.
Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me, I thought. The switch is new, the socket is new.... And then I began wondering, had I done something wrong a year ago? Maybe left something just barely connected, and now it's come apart? I shut off (what I thought was) the breaker for the kitchen light and began taking apart the switch assembly, when a light buzzing sensation in my hand told me perhaps I hadn't quite found the right breaker after all. I killed more power to the house, and tried again--and lo and behold, one of the wires to the back of the switch unit was in, but not as far in as its companion was. Aha, I thought, found you. I connected it even tighter, then buttoned up the switch assembly and restarted the power.
And still nothing.
Oh, come on, I thought.... I know electricity isn't my thing, but this is perhaps the simplest circuit possible--how could I have screwed this up? But, in my inexperience with circuitry (see also the poorer grades in the electricity units in any of my physics courses), I figured there had to be something in the wall, or maybe wrong with the switch or socket, either of which I wasn't going to be able to identify, let alone fix.
Time to call in Dave.
(To be continued.)
Dave has been part of our Sunday evening men's group and, until switching congregations this summer, a regular member of our church. Over the course of the last few years I've come to know and trust him, and so when we needed some electrical work done around the house a couple of years ago, he was there--on time, professional, and did a fine job for us. We've since had him back for some attic fans and other projects. So when the light over the kitchen sink failed to work a couple of weeks ago, I knew just what to do.
That's right...tried to fix it myself.
You see, I had done so a year or so ago; the light had failed to work, so I replaced the socket unit in the recessed light. Hm, that wasn't it. So I replaced the 20+-year-old light switch in the wall by the sink: bingo. That did it, we were back in the light business, and I knew I had both the switch and the light unit good to go for years to come.
Until one day I couldn't get the @!#$%^ thing to come on.
Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me, I thought. The switch is new, the socket is new.... And then I began wondering, had I done something wrong a year ago? Maybe left something just barely connected, and now it's come apart? I shut off (what I thought was) the breaker for the kitchen light and began taking apart the switch assembly, when a light buzzing sensation in my hand told me perhaps I hadn't quite found the right breaker after all. I killed more power to the house, and tried again--and lo and behold, one of the wires to the back of the switch unit was in, but not as far in as its companion was. Aha, I thought, found you. I connected it even tighter, then buttoned up the switch assembly and restarted the power.
And still nothing.
Oh, come on, I thought.... I know electricity isn't my thing, but this is perhaps the simplest circuit possible--how could I have screwed this up? But, in my inexperience with circuitry (see also the poorer grades in the electricity units in any of my physics courses), I figured there had to be something in the wall, or maybe wrong with the switch or socket, either of which I wasn't going to be able to identify, let alone fix.
Time to call in Dave.
(To be continued.)
Friday, September 7, 2012
Sixth Grade
Lest anyone think there's only one child in the house...
Sarah's first day of sixth grade was "amazing, stupendous, awesome," and several other glowing adjectives. She's starting her fourth year in AAP, and by dint of being in sixth grade, she starts switching classes for science and maths. However, she really likes her homeroom teacher, Mr Tagert, despite his being a Michigan Wolverines fan, because unlike her previous experience with a male teacher, Mr Tagert doesn't yell. She sits in class with her friends Kassandra, Emma, and Christina; this is the first time all four of them have been in the same classroom, and but for a late-summer snafu, her BFF Giselle would have been in the room as well.
As a sixth grader, Sarah now thoroughly, completely, and finally o-w-n-s the school. She has registered for Girls On The Run for the fall; she hopes to hear soon that she has been accepted to the team. She serves this year as a hallway patrol (B/D pod staircase, east end, middle of the stairs) and has learned already that adding the polite touch of "please don't run" tends to achieve more than just ordering kids around. But all the more, you can truly see the self-confidence, the self-assurance of a sixth grader who has arrived.
Come the spring, there will be difficult times as she prepares to leave the only school she's ever known. There may be difficult choices ahead, depending on what she wants to do with her gifts in AAP and, crucially, where her friends go. There will be tears, there will be awkward pain, but for now, the late-summer sun bears down warmly on a girl in her prime at the beginning of the awesomeness that is sixth grade.
Sarah's first day of sixth grade was "amazing, stupendous, awesome," and several other glowing adjectives. She's starting her fourth year in AAP, and by dint of being in sixth grade, she starts switching classes for science and maths. However, she really likes her homeroom teacher, Mr Tagert, despite his being a Michigan Wolverines fan, because unlike her previous experience with a male teacher, Mr Tagert doesn't yell. She sits in class with her friends Kassandra, Emma, and Christina; this is the first time all four of them have been in the same classroom, and but for a late-summer snafu, her BFF Giselle would have been in the room as well.
As a sixth grader, Sarah now thoroughly, completely, and finally o-w-n-s the school. She has registered for Girls On The Run for the fall; she hopes to hear soon that she has been accepted to the team. She serves this year as a hallway patrol (B/D pod staircase, east end, middle of the stairs) and has learned already that adding the polite touch of "please don't run" tends to achieve more than just ordering kids around. But all the more, you can truly see the self-confidence, the self-assurance of a sixth grader who has arrived.
Come the spring, there will be difficult times as she prepares to leave the only school she's ever known. There may be difficult choices ahead, depending on what she wants to do with her gifts in AAP and, crucially, where her friends go. There will be tears, there will be awkward pain, but for now, the late-summer sun bears down warmly on a girl in her prime at the beginning of the awesomeness that is sixth grade.
Monday, September 3, 2012
"Did You Find Everything You Were Looking For Today?"
Our local Giant has been on a bit of a customer service kick these last few months; I can only presume the manager has instituted this practice. Each time I use a checkout manned by a cashier, the cashier asks, "Did you find everything you were looking for today?"
I don't remember them doing this in years past, and on the face of it, it's fine. An innocuous question, really, designed to make the customer think that someone in the store cares whether they met all their shopping requirements. Today, however, came a new wrinkle: On pushing my cart out into the parking lot to load groceries for the trip home, I came across one of the cartherds bringing empty carts together in the corral. He asked me the same exact question: did I find everything I was looking for today?
I can appreciate a manager wanting his entire staff to be familiar with the phrase, and to deploy it liberally, to improve customer perceptions and general satisfaction. But there's got to be some line beyond which it's not only unwarranted, but serves to show that it's not a heartfelt question.
Take my poor teenage cartherd this morning. At the point at which he's interacting with me, I am not only past the point of paying for my groceries, I have wheeled them out of the store, down through the mall, out the door, across the parking lot, and loaded them into my car--returning the empty cart is the only thing left between me and leaving Giant completely. Is it seriously thought that, by his asking me if I found everything I was looking for today, after all that physical and psychological space between me and their shelves, that I would suddenly stop and say, "You know, I had really wanted to find some left-handed kumquats, but was just too self-conscious to admit I couldn't find them; do you think you could walk me back into the store and show me where they are?"
I would argue that the same applies, but to a lesser extent admittedly, to the cashiers. Their use of the line would actually mean something, since I haven't paid yet and could theoretically go grab those left-handed kumquats. My biggest gripe about the line as delivered by the cashiers is that it's meaningless to me when there are three other people with full baskets in line behind me. If it's slow and I'm alone, I might confess I'm missing the kumquats. I'm not going to hold others up to admit, at that late hour, that I cannot find the kumquat aisle to save my life. If anything, the question and its response have become not just automatic but autonomic: I can't say there's a whole lot of conscious thought that goes into my instant reply of "Yes, thanks."
If the line is to work, to truly have value, it should be the first or second thing the stock-persons and floor managers ask of folks while they're shopping. "Can I help you find something?" is a common enough line from the stock-persons refilling the shelves, and they're great at dropping what they're doing to walk me to the kumquat aisle. As an adjunct, "Are you finding everything you're looking for today?" makes a great question from the people in the aisles actually helping when purchasing decisions are being made. Any later than that, it runs too great a risk of coming off like a forced management slogan rather than a genuine offer of help.
I don't remember them doing this in years past, and on the face of it, it's fine. An innocuous question, really, designed to make the customer think that someone in the store cares whether they met all their shopping requirements. Today, however, came a new wrinkle: On pushing my cart out into the parking lot to load groceries for the trip home, I came across one of the cartherds bringing empty carts together in the corral. He asked me the same exact question: did I find everything I was looking for today?
I can appreciate a manager wanting his entire staff to be familiar with the phrase, and to deploy it liberally, to improve customer perceptions and general satisfaction. But there's got to be some line beyond which it's not only unwarranted, but serves to show that it's not a heartfelt question.
Take my poor teenage cartherd this morning. At the point at which he's interacting with me, I am not only past the point of paying for my groceries, I have wheeled them out of the store, down through the mall, out the door, across the parking lot, and loaded them into my car--returning the empty cart is the only thing left between me and leaving Giant completely. Is it seriously thought that, by his asking me if I found everything I was looking for today, after all that physical and psychological space between me and their shelves, that I would suddenly stop and say, "You know, I had really wanted to find some left-handed kumquats, but was just too self-conscious to admit I couldn't find them; do you think you could walk me back into the store and show me where they are?"
I would argue that the same applies, but to a lesser extent admittedly, to the cashiers. Their use of the line would actually mean something, since I haven't paid yet and could theoretically go grab those left-handed kumquats. My biggest gripe about the line as delivered by the cashiers is that it's meaningless to me when there are three other people with full baskets in line behind me. If it's slow and I'm alone, I might confess I'm missing the kumquats. I'm not going to hold others up to admit, at that late hour, that I cannot find the kumquat aisle to save my life. If anything, the question and its response have become not just automatic but autonomic: I can't say there's a whole lot of conscious thought that goes into my instant reply of "Yes, thanks."
If the line is to work, to truly have value, it should be the first or second thing the stock-persons and floor managers ask of folks while they're shopping. "Can I help you find something?" is a common enough line from the stock-persons refilling the shelves, and they're great at dropping what they're doing to walk me to the kumquat aisle. As an adjunct, "Are you finding everything you're looking for today?" makes a great question from the people in the aisles actually helping when purchasing decisions are being made. Any later than that, it runs too great a risk of coming off like a forced management slogan rather than a genuine offer of help.
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