"Wires", #inktober52, #inktober

I lamented to a couple of millennial friends a while back that their peers don't know how to do real basic things like cook an egg or change a light bulb.  My friends were unfazed.  One idly asked, "What do they do when a light bulb goes out?"  "They call an electrician or wait until somebody else comes over who knows what to do", I answered.  My friend shrugged his shoulders and said, "Problem solved then."  I wanted to scream.  No, what about the next bulb?  Why are they wasting money on electricians?!

It seems like I should've remembered my concerned outrage when my kitchen light started acting up.  Sometimes the pull chain worked, sometimes it didn't.  Sometimes I had to climb up on my sink and fiddle with it until the light went off.  When this happened often enough that I found myself swearing on a regular basis, I plugged in an inadequate lamp because I'm not calling an electrician for a stupid light.  I'm good at ignoring some problems.

I told a pal about this and he told me the light was an easy fix, the inexpensive part easily found at the home improvement store.  Okay.  I listened, but I didn't get the part.  I envisioned the store being filled with guys too tough to wear masks during our ever-increasing Covid-19 problem.  Besides, my friend thought this was an easy part to find, but he's a guy.  Those stores are designed for people like him.  They're intended to confuse people with ovaries.  I kept living with my inadequate lamp and washed dishes in daylight until my pal showed up with the part and a bottle of Jack Daniels.  Thanks!

I'll admit I was more drawn to the whiskey than the stupid switch, but I dutifully went to the basement and turned off the "kitchen" breaker.  This did not turn off the kitchen light.  I went back to the basement and tried another breaker.  Up the steps, down the steps, up, down, up, down... F it, I turned off the main switch.  The light finally went off along with every other electric thing I own, including my tetchy computer.  Arg.

I climbed onto the kitchen sink and balanced precariously next to the ceiling while dismantling the light fixture, fiberglass insulation wafting in my face and sticking to my sweaty face on one of the hottest days of the year.  My pal had said there were 3 wires inside.  He was wrong.  There were 5 or 6.  Despite this confusing turn of events, I successfully hooked up the new switch, muscled the light fixture back onto the ceiling, and turned the main breaker on again.  Then, there was light!

I put a long-life bulb in the light fixture.  It's my sincere hope I never have to mess with that light again.  I turn the light on and off for fun these days.  I wonder at myself for being willing to live with that inadequate lamp.  I worry about all those millennials living through Covid-19 seclusion in the dark with raw eggs.

Would you have called the electrician or do you ignore stuff like this?