THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 5, 1995 TAG: 9502010049
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K5 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REAL MOMENTS
SOURCE: BY KEN PAPENFUSS, SPECIAL TO REAL LIFE
LENGTH: Medium: 97 lines
WE WERE having dinner at our neighbor's house one evening (something I try to avoid) when my wife commented on the handymanship of the host, Bill. Now I'll be the first to admit that I am not every wife's vision of a handyman. Those who know me would, in fact, find no correlation between the term ``handyman'' and whatever term they're using to refer to me at the time.
I must admit to being somewhat impressed with Bill's ability, although I go to great lengths to conceal that fact. For instance, the 8-foot stained-glass window that he designed, created and installed in his bathroom is indeed a work of art. I could sit and stare at it for hours, which I have been known to do when forced by my wife to visit them. And the hand-carved toilet seat - well, it would do Michelangelo proud.
As we prepared to eat, Bill asked if he should dim the lights for ambience. Of course he had to make a spectacle of the whole process. I was about to say the darker the better as, Helen, Bill's wife was beginning to serve the food. Before I could, however, my wife stepped squarely into Bill's trap. The way she went on, you'd have thought Frank Lloyd Wright and I.M. Pei had collaborated on the project. It was just a dimmer switch for crying out loud.
The discussion erupted again as we returned home and my wife turned on our dining room light. ``If WE had a dimmer switch, I wouldn't have to unscrew all the bulbs except one just so we can eat without being blinded. Of course it doesn't help that you buy bulbs that are brighter than the sun at midday at the equator. It's no wonder we never have any romantic dinners!'' I was not fooled by this - a romantic evening would never occur in this house.
The more we discussed the issue, the more I could see I was doomed. I would have no peace until our dining room also had ambience. When morning found me, I was camped outside the hardware store begging to be let in. Spurning my wife's demand that I ask for advice on the project, I selected and purchased the dimmer switch and returned home brimming with confidence.
I immediately delved into the project after arriving at home. Not long after I began working did I remember the cardinal rule of replacing light switches: ``Turn off power before electrical work.''
``Do you smell something burning?'' my wife asked, sniffing the air, as I walked past her on my way to the circuit breaker. I maintained my manly dignity and continued on as best I could.
I realized our house had been wired by idiots. The clueless electricians had used three wires instead of the two required for the dimmer switch I had purchased. After eight or nine hours, I foiled their pathetic attempt to confuse me with their incompetence. I triumphantly called my wife to view my brilliant craftsmanship.
``Neat,'' she said as she played with the switch. Then, in an effort to minimize the awe she felt for my abilities, she added, ``It's now dim enough that we can hold night baseball games in where without blinding the outfielders on a fly ball.'' She smiled and went to the drawer where she pulled out some light bulbs. ``I've been waiting for this,'' she smiled as she replaced the 100-watt bulbs with the equally expensive 15-watt bulbs. ``Oh, yes.'' We almost had a romantic moment right then.
Five minutes later I was called out of the easy chair where my wife had installed me, WITH the remote. ``What's wrong with the hallway lights?'' she said accusingly.
``Why are you asking me?'' I responded as I tried to slip out the back door.
``It was working before you installed the dimmer switch.''
``Wait a minute, the porch light isn't working either.
After another evening camped out in front of the hardware store, I traded my two-pole dimmer switch for a three-pole switch - which was not a manufacturing defect as I had supposed during my first visit. The hardware store owner's cruel laughter followed me as I left the store, ``A manufacturing defect. . . ha, ha, ha.''
In a few more hours I was ready to demonstrate again. ``Now before you turn it on let me explain. . . ''
There was no explaining. My wife would not go for any combination of porch, hallway and dining room lights except one where they all worked as she arbitrarily felt they should work. I mean I could even dim the hall or porch lights at the same time I dimmed the dining room light. Apparently it was not a feature she was looking for.
``Put the old switch back on,'' she sighed, resigning herself to an life without ambience.
She apparently did not understand the finer details of handymanship and the fact that the old light switch did not still exist in its original form.
It was humiliating. She called our neighbor Bill to fix the light and made me stand and listen while he explained where I had gone wrong. I tell you, calling the power company last year to explain the neighborhood blackout was a breeze in comparison. MEMO: Ken Papenfuss is a freelance writer who lives in Chesapeake and looks
forward to his next home project with undimmed enthusiasm.
ILLUSTRATION: Photo
LAWRENCE JACKSON/Staff
Ken Papenfuss of Chesapeake is no handyman, but he can make his way
around light fixtures - sort of.
by CNB