In my ’80s

Saturday, April 21, 2018

It doesn’t come to me

When the talents were handed out, I was dealt fairly. Not sparsely, not over-abundantly but fairly. I can light a fire with one match. I can shuck walnuts. And I can usually distinguish between a turtle and an igloo.   

But technical expertise? It didn’t come to me. It doesn’t come to me.

The long heavy-duty extension cord sent out a spark close to the end, and so, temporarily forgetting that it doesn’t come to me, I took the extension cord to the shop in the basement. I detached the end which looked nasty, so I went to the hardware and bought a new one. After I got it home I worked a long time trying to figure out how to open the plug, that is, how to detach the outside from the innards. After error and trial, it came open so I took it apart. Next I cut away cord to the exposed wires, but then I discovered I exposed too much raw wire, thus aiding the possibility of the wires touching once I had them secured. So I cut the ends off. I messed up the ends trying to affix them under the screws until I realized that if I wrapped each according to how the screw turned, they would hold better. Finally they were ready.

Then I realized that the cap, which I had taken off, had to be reattached to the cord in order for the inner part of the plug to fit into the cap. So I had to take it all apart again. It just doesn’t come to me. 

F-I-N-A-L-L-Y I got the thing together, just right and to prove it I plugged it in, and then went to get a light to plug in the other end. OOPs, the other end was male. What I attached was a male!