One of the 48" flourescent fixtures went bad in our kitchen. So I took the old one down, went to Home Depot, got a replacement and installed it. Now getting up and down stepladders is no longer one of my strong suits so this was all quite a chore.
Now, when I try to put the tubes in I discover that one of the insert-and-twist endpieces is defective and the whole thing needs to be done over.
I can’t even get my dollar back with the mega number on the California Lottery but I can unerringly pick the one in 20000 defective electrical fixtures at the hardware store.
I’ve had my own lighting trials with the dining room fixture recently. I have now been here a year and am stubbornly, angerly putting off the chore of replacing a bulb for the third time! This last one lasted a grand total of three weeks! I’m at the point of asking the landlady if I can replace the fixture and when she says yes, taking the old one out back and smashing it up very thoroughly with a sledge hammer! Stupid fricken ricken fixture. *%#$#@@!
I hate screwing with those things. We were having trouble with one in our kitchen and I decided like David to get up there and fix it. Only my wife was out of town and me, being a chicken about electricity, just shut off the entire main fuse before working on it. So it’s August, I’m working without the correct tools, without proper lighting and without AC. I’ve removed the fixture and am struggling through the sweat and shadows to get the new ballast in when I hear a noise. Standing on the kitchen island, I look over at one of the long tubes slowly sliding off the island edge where I’d leaned it. “BLAM!” White smoke and thousands of little shards of thin glass spread out everywhere. Then I hear the same noise again, “sliiiide” and “BLAM!” as the second tube falls off the island.
Two hours later and I’ve finally got the hardware back in, another hour to remove all the glass from every conceivable crevice, but over the next several days each tube keeps buring out, one after another. I finally break down and call an electrician who says one of the aforementioned twisty things like David’s is kaput.
Nowadays, we call the electrician first. Saves on clean-up time for me.
This reminds me of a story I’ve related before. I was very little and I don’t remember it, but my sister told me about it. Back in the day, most watches were not powered by batteries. And yet, some had alarms. Basically, there was a striker that would rapidly hit the case. Dad wore a Vulcain Cricket, which had a resonator on the back to boot.
Dad was on a stool fixing wiring on the overhead light. Just as he touched the wire to the terminal, his watch alarm went off! :eek: He thought he was being shocked and fell off of the stool.
