We were having dinner at our neighbor’s house one evening (something I try to avoid as much as possible) when my wife commented on the handymanship of the host, Bill. Now I will be the first to admit to not being every wife’s vision of a handyman. Those who know me would, in fact, find little correlation between the term handyman and whatever term they are using to refer to me at the time.
I do have to admit to being impressed with Bill’s handyman abilities, although I do go to great lengths to conceal the fact. For instance, the eight-foot by eight-foot stained glass window that he designed, created and installed above the jetted tub (which he also installed – although that he did not design or create it, which I smugly pointed out to my wife). I do admire it as I sit and stare at it seemingly for hours when forced by my wife to socialize at Bill’s and Helen’s house. And sitting on that hand carved toilet seat that would have done Michelangelo proud, well that is truly an other worldly experience.
As we sat down to eat Bill asked Helen if he should dim the lights for ambience. Of course he had to make a spectacle of the whole process. I was about to say, “the darker the better”, as Helen was beginning to serve the food. Before I could, however, my wife stepped squarely into Bill’s trap. The way she went on you’d have thought Frank Lloyd Write and I.M.Pei had collaborated on the project. It was just a dimmer switch for crying out loud!
The discussion erupted again as we returned home, and my wife sighed as she turned on our dining room lights. “If WE had a dimmer switch, I wouldn’t have to unscrew all the bulbs except one just so we could eat without being blinded.”(Such a drama queen.) “Of course, she continued, it doesn’t help that you buy bulbs that are brighter than the sun at midday…at the equator. It’s no wonder we never have any romantic dinners!” I was not fooled by this – a romantic evening would never occur in this house, with or without a dimmer switch.
The more we discussed the issue the more I could see I was doomed. I would have no peace until our dining room also had ambience. Morning found me camped outside the hardware store begging to be let in. Spurning my wife’s last request as I exited the house demanding I ask for help with my purchases and the attendant installation, I selected and purchased the dimmer switch and returned home brimming with confidence that the project was as good as done.
Tools at hand, dimmer switch at the ready, I began. I was very quickly reminded of that cardinal rule for replacing light switches. ‘Turn off power before beginning’. “Do you smell something burning?” my wife asked sniffing the air as I walked past her on my way to the circuit breaker. I maintained my manly dignity and continued on nursing my blackened fingers.
I very soon came to realize our house had been wired by idiots. The clueless electricians had used three wires on the old switch instead of just two as the new switch required. After what seemed like hours, I was finally able to foil their pathetic attempt to confuse me with their gross incompetence. I triumphantly called to my wife to view my latest dazzling display of craftmanship.
“Neat,” she said as she played with the switch. Then, in an effort to minimize the awe she was feeling for my abilities, she added, “It’s now dim enough to hold night baseball games without blinding the outfielders on a fly ball”. She smiled and went to the drawer where she pulled out some new light bulbs. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she smiled as she replaced the light bulbs with the equally expensive, and much dimmer, fifteen-watt bulbs. “Oh, yes.” We almost had a romantic moment right there.
Five minutes later I was abruptly brought back to earth and the easy chair in front of the television where my wife had just installed me – WITH the remote. “What’s wrong with the hallway lights?” she ranted.
“Why are you asking me?” I responded as I tried to slip out the back door.
“They were working before you installed the dimmer switch. Wait a minute, the porch lights aren’t working either.”
Another morning camped out in front of the hardware store. I traded in the two-pole dimmer switch for a three-pole – which was not the manufacturing defect I had previously assumed it to be as I uninstalled it. The hardware store owner’s cruel laughter followed me out the door. “Manufacturing defect, ha,ha,ha….”
In a few more hours I was ready to demonstrate again. “Now before you turn it on let me explain….”
Apparently being able to dim the hall or porch lights which came on with the dining room was not a feature she was looking for.
“Put the old switch back on,” she said sighing as she resigned herself to a life without ambience.
It was clear she did not understand the finer points of handymanship and the fact that the old switch did not still exist in its original form.
It was humiliating. She called Bill to fix the light and made me stand and listen while he explained the electrical facts of life to me. Explaining to the power company about the neighborhood blackout last year was a breeze in comparison.