Lights Out 2: The Crappening

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the house...

And just like a crappy movie sequel that nobody wanted except for creatively-deficient and greedy Hollywood execs, our electricity went out again. Six days after the first traumatic five day, four night ordeal.

Mercifully, it was a lot less severe than the first go-around, but it was still agonizing. I couldn't believe it. I'd just got accustomed to having, you know, the simple things in life--lights, air conditioning, the ability to cook--and so naïve me, I settled into my comfy electric love-seat again. And outside, the winds picked up. Sirens wailed. Hail from Hell pounded down. Our larger dog jumped up into my lap (nearly rupturing me in the doing), her heart pounding against her chest. And the lights flickered. I moaned. Another flickering. I groaned. A third time, I'm getting angry. And on the fourth?

Ka-Blam! Crackle, snap, pop, baby, transformers blew all in a row like a string of firecrackers. Lights out! Again.

This time, I'm screaming and cursing at the top of my lungs. I'm pretty sure I heard a collective wail of agony and torment from around the neighborhood, as well. And there I was, stuck in the electric recliner again like a never-learning goofball.

But since our first outage, I'd developed a network of street-long neighbors who kept each other appraised of the situation. Seeing as how there wasn't anything else to do, I took to my phone and it started dinging away with panicked texts from our newly-formed neighborhood alliance.

To all of us, it just seemed cruel that the mad gods of climate change had decided to hit us again after not even a week-long respite.

I knew where to go on my phone to check out the damage and to see if we'd get a quicker response this time. Apparently, whatever the problem was, it showed that if affected about 100 of my neighbors, so I assured my network of pals that we'd get higher priority this time. My best informant (the last of the hold-outs to stay home from the last storm) took to her car to cruise the neighborhood and scope out the problem. An entire power-line at the end of two blocks had completely fallen down, blocking off the street.

So my initial assessment was correct: it's a major problem that would get immediate attention. However, it was also a huge-ass problem that would take time. And I wasn't reassured by the power energy company's on-line, rote complaint about "we're doing the best we can, bla, bla, bla, but it's raining outside, you suckers may have to wait a a couple days, bla, bla, bla, company line and read between the lines: you're gonna get hit with hella price increases next year due to these storms."

But as I said, this time things didn't seem as severe. It helped immensely having my wife home with me during this outing. Just several hours earlier, she had just got back from helping her mom out with projects for a week and was definitely happy to be home. You know...relaxing in a nice, cool, electricity-filled home.

But as the ubiquitous "they" say: misery loves company. (Seeing as how she'd missed the entire first storm, I was more than happy to share my misery pain and suffering and First World Problems I'd endured.)

While still stuck in my mandated reclining pose, she came downstairs to join me, flashlights lighting the way. We sat in the darkness for a while, just chatting. Finally, she said, "Well, I'm going to bed." Me? I wasn't ready to go to bed at 9:00 on a weekend, so I sat in the dark with my phone, investigating, complaining, trying vainly to get a human's response to no avail.

When I finally stumbled up to bed, I was hot, sweating, miserable. Until at 2:00 A.M., whizzzzzzz...the lights came back on! The air conditioning window unit kicked on! Huzzah! Hooray for the power company!

Then again, it's getting kinda ridiculous. Every time our power blows out (and it does so a lot in our heavily wooded area), we suffer as do the power and light workers who trudge out into the storm to fix things. But they keep applying Band-Aids to the problem, instead of fixing the deeper issue: why not bury the damn lines like everybody out in newer suburbia has had done?

Okay, I had to gripe! I hope--nay, I pray--next week at this time, you won't be reading about a third power outage. I write this as thunder is booming outside and the rain is crying down.

Sigh...

Speaking of traumatic times, every time I think I've got problems, I consider poor Shawn Biltmore. Shawn's a corporate drudge on the lowest rung of low ladders at a heartless, soulless corporation. He also hates his job, has women problems, and has just been bitten by a werewolf. Hijinx ensue in my bloody, darkly comical, horror mystery, Corporate Wolf. Check it out here before the next full moon!