Electrician, thy name is not JC.

Tonight I put together a simple lamp wire kit, and blew a fuse upon plugging it in. I know what I did wrong, and it was simple and stupid.

In the basement, I stood in front of my fuse box, blown fuse in hand, looking for a replacement among the fuses lined up on the shelf. There was a fuse with the right amperage, but it was a different type. I opened other fuse boxes, trying to see a pattern. Nope. I looked into the fuse well of my own fuse box and saw that it mentioned one type specifically. I realized I'd have to wait until tomorrow to go to the hardware store for a replacement, because I don't argue with electricity.

Back in my apartment I briefly fretted over the fact that my fridge had no power. When I was growing up, lost power to the fridge initiated a sort of family disaster-response team: we were forbidden to open the fridge lest we admit insidious, destructive warmth. Anything that was needed was retrieved quickly, opening the door as little as possible, a surgical strike of foraging.

For a moment, the old instincts came back, and I worried over my dark fridge.


Then I remembered: I'm a vegetarian. What will I lose? A cucumber? Some soy butter?