Beneath the cabinets in my kitchen is a row of fluorescent lights that illuminate the countertops. One of those lights has decided to go all Baghdad on me. It crackles and pops and blinks for the entire time it is on. You might be thinking this is no big problem. All I have to do is change the fluorescent bulb, right?
I have a confession.
I am not. . . mechanical.
Or to put it another way:
Q. How many cartoonists does it take to change a light bulb?
A. More than the number living in my house.
My problem is that the light bulb is encased in some sort of impenetrable container with no indication of how it opens. This is where a “handy” person would take one look at it, squeeze the end of the container with his pudgy, oil-stained fingers, slide open the nearest drawer, tap on the side of the toaster with a wooden spoon, and the casing would fall open. The solution would be “obvious” to someone with that sort of skill. Sigh.
I go through life like Helen Keller in a room full of Rubic’s Cubes. For me, changing this light bulb is like figuring out how to sneak the Mona Lisa out of the Louvre. The light casing has no latches, no buttons, no instructions, no little holes to stick a screwdriver in, no clues whatsoever. I have not ruled out the possibility that it came here from the future.
I’m guessing the solution is a combination of squeezing and bending something at the same time. Of the 84 possible ways I could squeeze and bend something, 83 of those ways will result in the destruction of the container, a trip to the emergency room, and hearing the word “shards” way too many times.
My strategy so far has been to carefully recheck the light casing for clues that I missed the last twelve times I looked for an entry point. I do this while everyone is home because I know I can’t last a minute in the house without someone calling me to lift, move, unscrew, unclog, clean, drive, spell, or reboot something. As soon as I get my new orders, I loudly declare “I’ll get back to this light bulb problem later.”
I realize I could ask someone for help. I probably have lots of neighbors who have the same kitchen fixtures. One of those neighbors might be handy. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t embarrassing for a man to ask for help changing a light bulb. I think we can all agree that it’s the last resort.
My current strategy is to wait for my wife to be out of the house and then have a go at the light casing with a hammer and a screwdriver. I use this solution for many things. There’s a good chance I will get the casing open while only breaking an edge or a tab or something that I can later fix with duct tape or a process I call “jamming it in there.”
There’s also a good chance that I’ll get the casing open, but it won’t close again without an entirely new strategy of bending, squeezing, hammering and praying. And it will require three arms and a tail to do it.
But most likely I will totally destroy the casing with the hammer and screwdriver. Then the only problem is finding a replacement for a piece of hardware that came from the future and has no markings. Technically, that’s “shopping.” Shopping is Shelly’s job. I’m only in charge of “fixing.” So while I am not handy, I can sometimes solve my problems.