My Dad is a Household Hazard
Posted by Ray @ 2:58 amNever attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.
This is my reaction as I look at a fluorescent light bulb “helpfully” held together by scotch tape:
To understand the reaction, some background information is necessary. You see, my room has a combination ceiling fan and light, with three slots for light bulbs available.
As you can see, one of those slots is empty. I left it empty because its last occupant blew up, spewing sparks and bits of fluorescent bulb across me and my room.
I also left express instructions to the household to not install any new bulbs into that particular slot, because the constant vibration of the fan is what excites them into their explosive tendencies.
I told my father again when he tried to replace it, to stop. And my mother mentioned that the fan was improperly installed and causes vibrations that cause bulbs to go BOOM.
I guess I should have put a big flashing warning sign there as well, because dear daddy replaced the fluorescent bulb today. I only noticed because I heard rattling from the ceiling, and the previous explosive encounter had trained me to move quickly should a repeat performance manifest. So I got up on a chair and unscrewed the bulb, and was greeted with the gem above. Here it is again, just for emphasis:
It’s not even electrical tape or duct tape. It’s bloody scotch tape.
Lest you feel my rage unwarranted, let me add that he is a bloody engineer. He used to work with Hyundai in its infant days, and then went to Coca-Cola to work on their bottling plants.
For the region.
This is not an isolated incident. One time, he didn’t affix my sister’s ceiling light properly. My sister’s room’s ceiling light is one of those big, glass, discus-like affairs that are held up by screws. The glass cover is more than twice the diameter of her head. One unexpected day, the cover did exactly what you’d expect: it crashed to the floor.
Again, lest you feel my rage unwarranted, my sister’s study table is directly underneath that light. If that thing had hit her, I would have done some highly illegal things to somebody.
The incompetency is not limited to ceiling fixtures.
He persists in feeding the cat dried cuttlefish, which she cannot digest, and thus vomits out, along with whatever happened to be in her belly at the time. I have to clean that vomit up before the neighbours complain that the staircase has partly digested sotong, lizard and catfood smeared across it. When confronted with the fact, he rigorously denies responsibility, pointing out that the food bowl is empty - empty because I threw the sotong away before my cat got to it.
Then there was the time he left the clothes in the washing machine for so long that cockroaches creeped into it. Then he turned the machine on. Guess who had to pick out bits of cockroach leg and antennae out of his clothes?
Or how about the time he spilled ramen soup all over the kitchen counter? He wiped the counter, but not what seeped into the drawers underneath. And he obviously left it there for some time before clearing it up, because I had to dismantle all the drawers and literally pour the liquid MSG out before I could even start washing all the utensils inside.
I know, I know. I shouldn’t be saying these things - he is, after all, my father. But damn, there’s only so much one can take. Having a rattling time bomb held together by scotch tape dangling over your head changes your perspective, you know?
So next time you see Homer Simpson or Peter Griffith do something that seems utterly and impossibly stupid, you can go ahead and suspend your disbelief: it really is very plausible.
I live with one.