In for a shock

On a test I took in fourth grade, one question required me to list the similarities between series and parallel circuits.

“No matter which one you stick your finger into, you’ll get electrocuted,” I responded. I got full marks for that one.

I got reacquainted with the subject last week. I blew out some circuits and completely destroyed my refrigerator. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

I would never invest in a generator. My pride forbids me.

I like to think of myself as a daring, courageous person, the sort of person who would face the loss of electricity with a dashing smile, knowing that I don’t really need it.

But I do. Three minutes without television, and I’m at my wits’ end.

And if I have to speak honestly — there’s nothing else I can do, now that the TV’s not working — I’ll be the first to admit that deep down, I don’t know how electricity works.

When the teachers were lecturing about Franklin, Edison, and Einstein, I was the kid who took my shoes off and tried rubbing the carpet with my socks to get my hair to stand on end.

I never resembled any of those scientists mentally. Not even when my hair got all poofy.

I still imagine electrons as little marbles that roll through wires and into toasters and hair dryers and magically make them go.

Except for my toaster, that is. That’s not running. Neither is my refrigerator, and you can bet how many jokes I’ve heard about that.

I did not know you could remove all the electricity in your house by plugging too many things into one wall.

It turns out that if you have a refrigerator, electric kettle, toaster, and hair dryer humming away at the same time, they will argue over who gets the most electrons and eventually explode in frustration.

If you’re wondering why I had a hair dryer in my kitchen, do me a favor and don’t ask.

Once you’ve broken everything, you have to either fix things yourself or use a telephone (if that’s still working) to call an electrician. In the time it takes you to find one willing to do the job, you might just explode in frustration.

Before I forked up a ton of cash for someone to un-destroy my circuits, I wanted to take a stab at a solution myself.

So I went down into the basement and opened the box on the wall which is supposed to control all the electricity or something and stabbed at it with my finger.

It did nothing. Maybe the electrons inside had gotten so fed up that they had decided to no longer speak to each other.

So I went to my neighbor’s house and called the electrician from there. The moment he entered my kitchen and saw the refrigerator, electric kettle, toaster, and hair dryer, he bowed his head like a patient sage. He had seen this before.

He went down to the box in the basement and held a button on it. A light on the side winked. And the house hummed to life again. In under a minute, he had gotten everything working. I was shocked.

Then he billed me $60. That gave me a bigger jolt than any electron.