Powerless

(Originally published 5/21/12)

While enduring nine days without electricity recently, the Barkley family rattled around my brain. Via a Netflix gift subscription, I watched—before the lights went out—six episodes of the Big Valley starring Richard Long, Lee Majors, and the legendary Miss Barbara Stanwyck. This well-to-do brood did quite well sans electric lights, refrigeration, and ready-made hot water in the 1880s. Without the aid of a washing machine, the clan always appeared spiffy clean in their pristine and—in my opinion—somewhat ostentatious mansion.

A major electrical problem that would take at least three to four days to remedy took twice as long. Courtesy of a generous neighbor of mine from across the way, who provided me with an extension cord and some power, I was able to hook up my computer and modem and maintain some semblance of a normal life while otherwise in the dark. I could at least do some work, post on Facebook, and Google all sorts of unimportant things. After one evening of this borrowed power, however, the electrician—if you can call him that—cut my cable wire by mistake. In fact, he cut three cable wires by mistake. The cable company said it could not be repaired until the electricity was restored.

I know that a whole lot of people have been without power for a whole lot longer than nine days after natural disasters and such. Still, this stubborn fact of life provided me with little solace as things were being ripped off the wall just outside my door and brick residue saturated the air and tenaciously clung to everything in its path. And then came the drilling of holes through the same brick wall—more noise and more dust. The so-called electrician could be heard alternately crying and laughing while doing the job. 

I’ve noticed through the years that contractor types presume every adult male has at least a working knowledge of their trade and lingo. Other than it comes on when I plug things in, flick switches, and push certain buttons, I know next to nothing about electricity. Nevertheless, I said I understood things I really didn’t and, when asked, nobly assisted as a bona fide electrician's assistant. Trust me: This was the electrician from hell. I found empty beer cans in his wake.

Life lessons learned from being powerless: Foremost, I like electricity. Living in the Big Valley, on the Ponderosa, or in Walnut Grove really isn't all that it's cracked up to be. And when push comes to shove, I can take ice cold showers. Granted, had all of this transpired in January, it would have been more of a challenge. Most important of all—and a life lesson—don't run with the first name that comes up in a Google search of "electrician," even if it's an emergency and the company sends a body over within an hour. In this instance: a body in his own jalopy with fewer tools on him than in a kid's play set. First impressions were bad, I can tell you, and it went downhill from there.