DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

We had an electrician out to the house to investigate a flaky power outlet in the garage. Because I’m home all day, I generally get conscripted by these guys to assist — they interpret my standing around watching as a desire to volunteer, when really I’m just trying to make sure they’re not swiping loose change and ATM receipts.

This electrician was a product of the local environment. That is, he was an aging hippie… long hair braided down his back, clothing of questionable vintage, and a certain, erm, presence that suggested that bathing wasn’t necessarily the first thing on the to-do list every morning. I’m not saying any of this to denigrate the guy; honestly, in 15 years I’ll probably look and smell just the same. And I’m not planning to buy any new clothes, so that aspect is already taken care of.

He announced that we’d need to cut the power to this outlet at the circuit breaker, so he could open it up without risking electrocution. Unfortunately the previous owners didn’t label any of the breakers, and Lord knows I haven’t had time to do it what with all this standing around watching contractors fix stuff. So he said I should rapidly flip every breaker off and on, and that he’d yell when I’d hit the right one. I said I’d be way on the other side of the house, and that I didn’t think I’d be able to hear him, and he said he’d yell real loud.

So I started flipping breakers, mentally counting all the clocks and such that would have to be reset after having their power interrupted, when I heard the electrician bellowing “OFF!! OFF!! OFF!! OFF!!” The sound was frightening, really loud and with a tone that suggested very bad things, like I’d find his boots welded together on the concrete floor, empty but smoking, if I didn’t cut the power soon. But then when he yelled “OFF!” about 12 more times I guessed he probably hadn’t actually electrocuted himself yet. I kept flipping.

I eventually found the breaker, and the electrician eventually fixed the voltage problem. Also he traded me part of his fee for the second-ugliest light fixture in all of Sonoma County — something frosted with glitter and roses that I’d asked him to replace. He asked me what I planned to do with it. “This nasty old thing? The dump is too good for — err, sure, you can have it if you’d like.”