It's electric(ity)

My love affair with electricity died about 12 years ago.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m a big fan of what it can do, in particular when it comes to popcorn poppers and the Wii. But I just don’t care to be up close and personal with it.
It happened when I went to change a light fixture more than a decade ago. I did all the right things – I turned off the breaker, I stood on top of the washing machine, I kicked one leg against a well to balance myself. You know, just like OSHA wants you to do.
And then I went to remove the light fixture, at which point I quickly found out that the breaker I had turned off had absolutely nothing to do with that light fixture.
From that point on, I pretty much vowed that if it was electric, it was either going to have to fix itself or stay broken. I was in no mood to get shocked again, and, more than likely, my neighbors were not interested in hearing my post-shock commentary again.
But, alas, all good things must come to an end, and it was clear that my good run of not being able to be shocked was about to be over when an electrical issue presented itself. And two things were very clear: (1) It was not going to fix itself and (2) with a little encouragement, a chimp could fix the problem, seeing as how it was simply fixing a broken light switch.
The light switch became inoperable when it came in contact with a 6-year-old. I am not sure exactly what happened, but I am finding that things that come in contact with 6-year-olds often end up in the broken category, yet without an explanation. If you pulled the switch out and wiggled it, you could get the light to come on. However, in order to get it to stay on, you would have to wedge something back behind the switch to keep the light on. I have operated a light switch or two. Pretty confident in my assessment of broken.
So I went to the home improvement store and went to the light switch aisle. There were two employees standing there. “I need a plain old light switch for a hall light.” They pointed to a box of plain old light switches. Easy as that.
I got home and decided to tackle the project. I wedged the broken switch on so that I could tell when the breaker was tripped. Using my cell phone, I called the house phone. I handed the phone to my daughter and told her to tell me when the light went off. After flipping several breakers, I was told the light was off. Upon entering the house, it became clear I should have pointed out a specific light.
Once that problem was solved, I went to work with my trusty screwdriver. In no time, I had the wall plate off and the light switch free. I had my son touch the wire to make sure the power was off.
Ha! Kidding. Once I got the switch out of the wall, I unscrewed the four wires. This was gonna be a snap. I pulled the new light switch out and noticed three screws. I had this conversation with myself:
ME: I guess I just wire two of the wires to one screw.
MY BRAIN: Seriously? You’re seriously thinking of that?
ME: Ye ... No.
I stared at the switch and then back at the wall a few times. Nothing changed.
So I headed back to the store. When I walked in, I explained to the employee my four wire/three screw dilemma. “Is it a three-way switch?” she asked.
“No,” I responded confidently. I then asked, “Wait, what do you mean?”
She asked me if more than one light switch controlled this light. I told her that, in fact, three switches controlled it. She looked at me with equal parts pity and disgust.
In no time, she had a three-way switch (which I think should be renamed four-screw switch, as that seems far more literal). When I got home, I wired it up in no time and before I knew it – voila – working light switch again.
I know it may not seem like that big of a deal, but trust me – when you loathe home improvement projects as much as I do, it’s a major accomplishment to begin a project, much less finish one, all without electrocuting myself. Now, time to tell my 6-year-old to stay away from anything electrical until he turns 7.