BZZZZZZZZZZZT! December 1, 2004 ~ 2:32 pm
Posted by Julie in : Daily Grind , trackbackI have a story for you all today. But first, some stealth photography. (Thanks for the tips, Sloth!)
Taken on the 6 train somewhere between Brooklyn Bridge and Astor Place. She was so pink, I had to get a closeup.
Unfortunately, it’s not in the world’s best focus. Hey, it was stealth photography, peeps. I could’ve gotten my ass kicked just because I wanted to show you the kind of people you find in the East Village. And yes, I think that’s really her hair, not a wig. People do weird things here.
Okay, story time. When I was a kid, I was placed in the gifted class at school. I’m not saying this to brag, I’m saying it to give you context. If you’ve ever known someone who was in the gifted class at school, you know that gifted children are intelligent, but not real long on the common sense. Too busy thinking six steps ahead, or thinking outside the box, or whatever. While this hasn’t gotten me killed yet, it means that I have dodged more than my fair share of trucks, gone into plenty of shady neighborhoods, and gave shit to people I should have just ignored. I don’t think things through, and end up in occasionally life-threatening situations because I’m such an numbskull.
Sunday night I came home from a long day of rehearsal, hanging out with Rick, and Christmas shopping. I was tired, I was cranky, and I just wanted to go to sleep. But Joe (the black cat) met me at the top of the stairs, bitching. He was hungry. He was thirsty. He wanted attention. He wanted to tattle. I don’t know. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw that the light I generally leave on for the cats was burned out. I got a replacement bulb, and started twisting the old one out (if you’ve got common sense, you already know where this is going, don’t you?). The bulb came out, but the metal bottom part didn’t. Probably because this is the lamp that the cats knock over regularly, and that’s what broke the bulb. Joe had gotten suspiciously quiet at this point, and wouldn’t look at me. He always does that when he’s done something wrong. I was irritated. All I wanted to do was change the damn bulb and go to sleep.
I took the shade off, got out my Swiss Army Knife, and used the little pliers on it to try and pry the metal screw part out (even if you don’t have common sense, you know where this is going, don’t you?). I worked at this for several minutes before anything happened, and then, suddenly, BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT! A shock went up my entire right arm and into my chest as the hand holding the pliers met the little bulb filaments and completed a circuit. I yelped, dropped the pliers, and cried a little. It hurt, but not awfully, it was just the shock of it (pardon the pun) on top of me being tired that put me over the edge. When I pulled myself together, I unplugged the lamp (I know, I should have done that first, but I didn’t think of it because the damn light was off. See what I mean about not having common sense?) and called Mom, and greeted her with “How the fuck do you get a broken lightbulb out of the lamp?”.
Mom is cool. She took this in stride. Our conversation went something like this:
Mom: A potato.
me: A potato?
Mom: Yes, a potato. That’s what Heloise says.
me: Who the fuck is Heloise and why do I care what she says? (I’m not a happy person after getting electrocuted)
Mom: Just do it, Julie.
me (after fiddling around with potato and lamp and having nothing to show for it but a mess of potato): This isn’t working.
Mom: Did you take the middle part out? Where the filaments are?
me: I can’t, that would mean breaking glass.
Mom: So hold it over the trashcan.
me (breaking the damn thing): Great. Now I have glass everywhere and mashed potatoes. Cat, I am wringing your little black neck for this one. No! Don’t eat the glass!
Mom (laughing): So is it working?
me: No. This sucks. Heloise doesn’t know what she’s talking about and now I have a lamp I can never use again. (see why I’m in theatre? I’m dramatic, baby.)
Mom: Keep trying.
me: I am never eating another goddamn potato again. This isn’t working. Heloise is a fucking asshole. Oh, wait, it worked.
Mom: See?
me: But now that cardboard ring in the lamp is all wet and potato-y. Cat, get away from the glass. You’re going down, animal!
Mom (laughing again): So let it dry over night.
me: But I want to do this now so I can go to sleep.
Mom: So go to sleep without doing it.
me: But…no! (See, that would have made too much sense.)
Mom (sweetly): Goodnight.
me (pissy): Goodnight.
See how well she handles my stupidity? She’s used to having a daughter with no common sense. And the part of the conversation I’m not typing is when I told her that I had electrocuted myself and she said “Well, dumbshit, why didn’t you unplug the lamp first?” and I said “Yeah, now you tell me, where were you five minutes ago, woman?” Nothing like a mother-child relationship where I can call her woman (or bitch, which I also did during this conversation) and she can call me dumbshit. That’s what I call love, dammit. BZZZZZZZZT!
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