My sister, Teresa, and brother-in-law, Jim, recently put siding on their house. When the siding was being put up, the workers had to cut some wires under the carport roof going from the house to the shed. Given my background as an electrician, Jim asked me if I could fix the wiring. The old wiring was just ROMEX strung from the house, held by staples to the carport roof, going to the shed. I asked him if he would like it to be a little more weather-proofed and offered to put in some conduit and run the wries through that.
Sure, good idea.
To properly run conduit, I need to connect it to the junction box in the attic where the wires originate from, through the wall and over to the shed. It’s been very hot in the midwest lately and the attic is the last place I needed to be. It was hot, muggy, stuffy, and difficult to breathe. I was trying to get a hole in the wall to fit the conduit through and I could tell by the whining of the drill that the battery wasn’t going to last much longer. So of course, instead of yelling down for the new battery, I leaned harder on the drill, trying to force it to work so I could get out of the attic that much faster. The drill slipped, I lost my balance and fell. I was then able to ask for the replacement battery without yelling as my head and right arm had gone through the ceiling and I was looking at my sister, brother-in-law, and 9 week old neice as they sat in their den watching a movie. Afraid to move unless I fall the rest of the way through the ceiling, I muttered the only words I could think of:
“Little help, please.”
When Jim finished laughing at me, he climbed into the attic and pulled me up. He insists it’s not a big deal (his brother Dave is a carpenter and could fix that hole in no time). My sister on the other hand, could only remind me about the time I fell in the cat litter. I assured them I don’t expect to be paid for finishing the job, but I am never doing electrical work for my sister again. Something about her house doesn’t like me.
