Monday, November 22, 2004
Seeing the Light
In case you’ve ever wondered how many slightly addled 26-year-olds it takes to change a light bulb, I now know the answer. After a week of stumbling around in the dark, my roommate and I finally decided to change the ceiling fixture over our bar yesterday. Unfortunately, the ceilings in our apartment are ten feet high, and we are not. So after several abortive attempts involving unstable arrangements of flimsy IKEA chairs and non-cheerleading-association-recognized human pyramids, we finally realized that one of us could just stand on top of the bar (How Coyote Ugly!) and twist the damn thing open. Except for the fact that it was stuck in place, apparently only a clever illusion of a functioning light fixture designed by M.C. Escher. So I, brilliantly, decided to tap it lightly to loosen it up. At which point it shattered into roughly three million pieces, each with a special evil ability to avoid vacuums and stick directly into my foot. Needless to say, I spent tonight limping up and down the aisles of Home Depot looking for a suitably sociopathic lighting replacement. My landlord and I are going to be like very best friends.
In case you’ve ever wondered how many slightly addled 26-year-olds it takes to change a light bulb, I now know the answer. After a week of stumbling around in the dark, my roommate and I finally decided to change the ceiling fixture over our bar yesterday. Unfortunately, the ceilings in our apartment are ten feet high, and we are not. So after several abortive attempts involving unstable arrangements of flimsy IKEA chairs and non-cheerleading-association-recognized human pyramids, we finally realized that one of us could just stand on top of the bar (How Coyote Ugly!) and twist the damn thing open. Except for the fact that it was stuck in place, apparently only a clever illusion of a functioning light fixture designed by M.C. Escher. So I, brilliantly, decided to tap it lightly to loosen it up. At which point it shattered into roughly three million pieces, each with a special evil ability to avoid vacuums and stick directly into my foot. Needless to say, I spent tonight limping up and down the aisles of Home Depot looking for a suitably sociopathic lighting replacement. My landlord and I are going to be like very best friends.
