I did it again and I don’t know why.
As I left the garage, I instinctively flipped the light switch.
Like I said, I don’t know why I did it. All I know is that nothing good will come of it. One would think that a light switch would control lights but ours doesn’t.
We have several such switches in our house. Each a mystery.
We have no idea what the one in the garage does but we are sure it does something. The one in the entryway does something too – but we are not sure why it does the things it does. Not so the one in the kitchen. That one is completely predictable – sometimes.
This mystery began about a year ago when lights suddenly stopped working and dead outlets just as suddenly sprung to life. The appliances got in on the action too – blinking in and out of consciousness – all because some switch somewhere had been flipped.
We suspect much of this was caused by the crazy old handyman who wired our place years before we bought it. We have tried to undo his chaos by taking careful notes and systematically rewiring his obvious errors but all we got for the effort was more riddles in our walls.
In a rational world, one might simply disconnect the mystery switches. We did that – but over the normal course of flipping lights on and off, we slowly and surely shut down our household. To save ourselves we reconnected them.
We called several local electricians but they know our place and never called back. We called professionals from out of the area only to watch them speed away after confronting our beehive of wires, so after I set off a fresh round of chaos by flipping the garage light switch, I called my buddy Stan. He can fix anything.
He poked around a bit then sighed that heavy sigh of his and said, “I don’t do magic.”
“Too complex for you, huh?”
“Not at all,” he said, “with complexity, you know there is an explanation for what you don’t know. With magic, you know the explanation is beyond reason. What you have is beyond even that.”
“What should I do?” I asked.
“Have you tried superstition?”
“Yes,” I told him.
“Try harder,” he said.
Just then my dog barked.
Scooter has never made the connection between the food in his dish and my daily trips to fill it. He blames the dish for being empty and gets so angry about it that he knocks his food and water around his kennel.
So we went to the shed to take care of Scooter.
“You need to buy him feeders,” Stan said, “big ones. Big enough so he can’t bat them around and spill his water. If you do that, I predict the dark lord of electricity will reward you.”
“Trust magic,” he said.
So I did – and Stan was right, it worked.
As soon as I got Scooter his feeders, the switch in the garage became utterly reliable, the one in the entryway became downright dependable and the kitchen light performed predictably.
I called Stan.
“What the heck?” I said and described what happened.
“I figured so,” he said, “when Scooter knocks over his water dish, he grounds out an outlet and since your supply is routed through the shed, it scrambles your grid. You need to get that line and the breaker box replaced.”