It’s funny how you never realize how much you count on your electric appliances until one finally comes alive, says, “PAK CHOOIE” and pushes your grandma down the stairs to protect her from the Terrible Secret of Space. Allow me to explain.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Step, my red-haired wife, had decided that she needed to clean out the microwave oven, which is I guess what red-haired wives all over the world do. I don’t ever really pay much attention to it, so long as it reheats my bacon and my bacon-bacon burgers. Though lately it has begun to take on some of the physical properties of a cave, what with the brown rock stalactites that cling to its ceiling, and the rocky crevasses and stalagmites all over the walls and floor. The plates still fit in there, though they sort of sat at an awkward angle on the rocky surface… But I digress.
Anyway, she was cleaning out the vent traps on the bottom of the microwave, where there had collected a fairly good amount of grease from all the bacon we fry directly beneath the microwave. See, ours is one of those under-cabinet-mounted units that has the vent hood built directly into it. So she goes to take off the vent trap, and touches one of the screws on the bottom of the microwave. It quietly reminded her that there was power running to the device. Strange, she thought, and continued on her way.
Well all was well and good until she tried to put the trap back into its slot on the bottom of the microwave. That was when the machine awoke, started mumbling about protecting her from the Terrible Secret of Space and asked if she had stairs in her house. It was, I believe, fully prepared to push my red-haired wife down the stairs. And I don’t even have stairs in my house! Now, if someone on the street asks me if I have stairs in my house, I knowingly nod and respond that I do. I mean, I am protected, after all.
But when the metal of the vent trap came into contact with the under side of the microwave, it arced, caused the universe to divide by zero, and almost killed my ridiculously magnificent looking red-haired wife. My older daughter, Callie was standing there watching when the thing exploded, sending a three-foot flame out the bottom over the stove right at her. Needless to say, this scared Cal pretty bad. But what of the explosion that fried the tiny blond hairs on Step’s arm? And popped the cork from the spice pot I keep on the stove riser against the wall?
Good Lord, I say, those things are not supposed to do that. Are they? I mean, if they are, I wish someone would have told me this shit five years ago when I bought the house. Because that sounds like a much more efficient way to cook bacon. Well I went in and shut off the breaker so I could get up under there and figure out what was wrong with it. I was looking for any odd or burned looking screws, loose dangling wires, or a bad fonga plug assembly. You know, the usual shit you expect to find on a malfunctioning microwave. And to answer all you haters’ question before you ask it, yes, I did check the nuclear cryofuse modulator. I’m not a damned idiot.
Well it didn’t take very long to see that there was nothing visibly wrong with it. I mean, I’m no microwave expert, but I sure as hell know a bad linear static coupler when I see one. And mine was fine. Not even black around the edges by the grindcoil or the atomic shift plate. So I just unplugged the damn microwave and flipped the breaker back on. Let me back up a little though, and tell you that when I went to flip the breaker off originally, it took me a bit to find which one it was. Because whatever douche originally owned this home never went and labeled them. Yeah, I know. We need another rolleyes, right?
Thank you. So when I was flipping breakers, I inadvertently turned off the air conditioner. The air handler on the inside, by the water heater, that is. And now, to make a short story long, I’ll get to the point of my column. The son of a bitching thing won’t come back on. I’ve flipped hydrocoil fuse bushing plate switches, I’ve switched the polarizers on the solar joints and even reset the breakers several times. I even tried a new thermostat. I cannot get the air conditioner to turn back on. I don’t even know about the compressor outside, because it’s not getting signal from the main screen turn on. You would think that turning on the air handler inside would work even if the compressor won’t. Meh.
I put in a call to AC Bob, and I’m still waiting for a callback. It could be a while. Meanwhile, my red-haired wife and I are sweating our asses off here, and it’s up to 90 degrees in the SpaceHouse. If you would like to help, you can mail checks, bags of ice and reticulating cockball assemblies to my PO Box.