When last we left our hero (who would be me. Oh, la-di-da, don't we think a lot of ourself?), the motion detector was successfully installed. Or was it?
|Look out squirrels!!|
While I inspected the job, my son (who had wandered away from his X-Box when he heard a chipmunk) stared at the underside of the brightly-lit detector.
“Hey, Dad, what’s that written on the underside of the sensor?”
Deciding to eschew (French for “disregard.” Or “atchoo.” Which doesn’t make sense) the ladder, I squinted my eyes at some squiggles written on the plastic.
“Oh, that? It’s probably Chinese for ‘Use only 60 watt bulbs’ or something like that. Don’t worry about it.”
My testosterone at maximum level, I could conquer the world. I confidently strode into the house, thumped my chest, and announced to the womenfolk that I was Conqueror of Darkness.
“Here,” my wife flung a pork loin my way and pointed at the grill, “now you can be Lord of Fire.”
The motion detector did its thing for several weeks. It could spot the movement of the smallest of critters, energize its halogen lamps, and instantly bring the driveway to near-solar intensity.
Our property became an impregnable fortress, secure from wanton acts of nature. And, if called upon, could be an emergency airfield.
|It was so bad it was raining cats, dogs, |
Last week, though, we had a rainstorm to match all rainstorms. Streams overflowed, gutters choked with sodden debris, cars stalled in flooded intersections, and our neighbor, “Frank the Drunk”, started hauling in pairs of zebras and ducks into his bass boat.
Oh, yeah, and our motion detector stopped working.
Initially refusing to shut off, even during the day, it was merely tricked by the gloom of the storm. Or so I thought.
But, when the sun finally came out and we needed sunglasses, the light still refused to turn off.
Seeing that, I thought that somehow the designers of the thing hadn’t taken torrential downpours into account. Obviously, water had gotten into the whole shooting match and shorted out the wires.
|Famous dead Italian electricity guy.|
Upstaged by that know-it-all, Edison.
Who wasn't Italian.
|Marconi, not macaroni, dumbass!|
Of course, since I’m not exactly Marconi, the thought of WHY something that was shorted would still WORK never crossed my mind.
Armed with an industrial size tube of waterproof silicant, I once more ascended my ladder to remedy the situation (this time I shut off the power).
After coating all possible openings with the waterproof goop (of the motion detector), I descended the ladder making sure I didn’t go crashing into the garbage cans, forcing a visit to the local ER. Re-energizing the circuit, I returned to inspect my work. Voila! The lights had gone off!
|Okay, this wasn't me.|
I had my shirt on.
Well, darkness came and went. And, the motion detector worked as well as a clock made of cheese.
Perplexed, I figured I’d have to take the whole thing off, dry it, and re-install it.
Balancing precariously on the ladder, I twisted the sensor and grimaced as a cascade of water rolled down my arm into my armpit.
That figures! Cheap Chinese, Japanese, whatever, piece of crap! What frikkin’ genius thought to put the controls on top of the sensor so rain can just roll right in and fry the thing?
As I was mentally spending my refund after I returned this hunk of junk, I noticed the words that my son had pointed out as I was congratulating myself a few weeks ago. Words that were printed on what I thought was the underside of the sensor. Words that, when turned the right way, clearly stated:
“THIS SIDE UP.”
Back to the store.