The good kind (when fireworks fly and toes curl) and the not so good kind (when things are literally exploding out of the walls and making you question the safety of your home).
Unfortunately today; we will be talking about the not so good kind.
After last month’s exploding breaker, I was already a little unsure about the integrity of my wiring. Something about the whole situation had just made me nervous, but I tried to assure myself that the sole issue had been the breaker and everything beyond that was fine.
Especially because the hairy electrician of my dreams (or nightmares) had gone to the lengths of getting my number off of his company records and calling me about two weeks after the explosive event. He wanted to know if I wanted him to come over and help with anything else – on his own time. The whole thing was just kind of… creepy. And inappropriate. I am not now, nor have I ever been, one of those girls who takes advantage of guys to get things done; and the idea that this guy may just want something in return for all his "helpfulness" turned my stomach.
Thankfully I was in Seattle at the time and I was able to tell him that taking care of my other electrical projects wasn’t really at the top of my priority list, but it was just… weird.
So yeah, I hadn’t been relishing calling an electrician any time soon.
But then, Wednesday morning happened.
I had been awake all of 1 hour, and was attempting valiantly to get my butt in gear and get ready for work (I am the exact opposite of what someone might call a morning person). All of a sudden, there was a loud pop overhead and a flaming light bulb came flying down towards my bed.
No joke, this is what the thing looked like when I was finally able to pick it up:
Like torched glass, right? The stupid thing actually burnt a hole in my comforter.
And, it scared the crap out of me!
The metal remains of the light bulb were still in the fan, and I was attempting to determine what exactly I was supposed to do about this when a second bulb came exploding out.
At that point, I turned off the light.
Then, I called the electrical company I use.
And without wanting to get anyone in trouble, I specifically requested they send someone besides the hairy beast to do a complete wiring check on my condo.
I also bought a new ceiling fan – assuming that at the very least, this was a sign from the heavens above that dark wood and brass ceiling fans were out and it was time to upgrade to something more modern and neutral. Something more… me.
Yesterday afternoon, a young guy showed up at my house and checked everything out. He assured me (after plenty of checking) that the wiring all looked fairly safe and intact. That if anything, it may just have been an issue with the fixture being old and needing to be replaced. So, he replaced that for me and did a few more quick projects around my house that have been needing to be done; all while being the epitome of professional.
It was impressive. So impressive that I actually called his company after he left to let them know how great he had been.
I felt bad about complaining about the other guy, so I kind of wanted them to know that I’m also capable of recognizing good work.
Yep. This is how my brain functions.
So far, there are no issues with the new fixture and everything seems to be functioning great. I have two new ceiling fans and 1 new bathroom fan as well (I had been avoiding installing that thing for about a year – it was about time I let someone else just do it for me!) and all is right in Casa De S.I.F. again.
Of course, there are no bedroom explosions… of any kind.
But who needs bedroom explosions anyway?
