This is the story of how I failed. I took a situation that was less than ideal and made it much worse.
On Tuesday afternoon I arrived at my grandmother's house 300 km west of here in the town that rhymes with Narnia. She came to the door and smiled. She bent to pat both the dogs. Then she frowned and looked towards the car. Are you alone? I thought you would bring — she paused — a friend.
We had a good afternoon and a nice evening. As it started to get dark I flicked the light switch in the kitchen. Two of the four bulbs came on, but very weakly. They sort of glowed, but didn't illuminate anything.
I commented on it and said we could get some new bulbs for it in the morning. She fretted about me being on the ladder, but whatever. Later the light changed and two different bulbs were on at full strength. Eventually all four were on at full strength. At another point a different combination of two bulbs were on.
She said not to worry about it, this is what they do when the bulbs are dying. That's all. I wasn't so sure. It's fine, she said. I don't ever use that light fixture anyways. I only ever use the lamp on the table.
In the morning we went to the hardware store. I described the problem to an employee, and Gram jumped in to say it was just the bulbs. It might be, said the clerk, but it may well be the ballast. If that's the case, it's cheaper and easier to replace the fixture than than the ballast. I called my dad and he gave the same prognosis.
I said we should replace the fixture. I've replaced all the light fixtures in my own house. It's not hard. Oh no, Gram said. You need a man to do that!
I... Um... I'm... You... Er, what?
I told her she'd better not let my father hear her talk that way. She was insistent. So was I. Then I put her on the phone with my father and he set her straight. She said the ceiling would need to be repainted. He said that was an excuse for me to come back another week. She relented. I removed the old fixture and we went to Home Depot. We looked at all the different fixtures and discussed the merits of several. She picked out the one that she liked.
We got it home and I climbed up the ladder to install the new one. I fiddled with it and stared at it for a bit, but something wasn't right. I was missing one piece. The new fixture was unadjustable and sized for a 6-inch junction box. The junction box was 4 inches. To complete the job I would need an adjustable mounting bracket: a run-of-the-mill $2 part. Very easy. The shop up the street would have them. Quick and painless. The rest of the job would take 10 minutes.
Of course, by this point the shops were closed. I said I'd do it first thing in the morning. Fine.
This morning I got up and walked to the shop, but it wasn't open yet. When I got home she was waiting. She said she'd changed her mind. She didn't like the new fixture. It was too small. It wasn't bright enough. It was too different. The ceiling would have to be repainted.
I tried to rebut, but she got upset. She told me she was an old lady and she didn't want change. She didn't like it. She wouldn't have it. The fixture was very important. It was always on. It was very bright and she needed it. A new one wouldn't be as bright.
She said it wasn't me, I hadn't done anything wrong. She thanked me for trying to help, but said she just couldn't deal with the new fixture. I backed down and called my dad. He told me I had done what I could.
I decided to let it drop. The moment I did she said, you're just a girl, and a small one at that. You need a man to do this.
She said she'd get somebody from the seniors' centre to fix it. I went down to the centre and asked them. They said they weren't allowed to do electrical work, only a licensed electrician could.
So now she has two light fixtures on the floor and none working.
