Another 'Act of God'

Electricity is a good and handy thing.
Not that I am a weenie or anything – I am a fully-functional human being in the backcountry without it – but when I’m around the homestead, it is nice.

It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a crash! The neighborhood plunged into darkness.

It was somewhere around 11:30 p.m. I thought it was a lightening strike – the storm had been moving through since 8 p.m. – that temporarily interrupted service. I shifted to a more comfortable position and tried to go back to sleep.
When the waggle of flashlight beams began to dance across the ceiling.
“Call 911,” my neighbor said as I threw open the window.
Four houses down, an oak tree came down, and took with it four power poles. Lines were down all over the street; the power pole next to my driveway was shattered and splintered.
“We’re not going to have power for quite some time,” my neighbor said.
OK by me. I went back to bed.
Or tried. The city utility began work at about 1 a.m. With chainsaws, sodium-vapor lights, bucket trucks and diesel generators.
I did managed to nod off for about 40 minutes - until the doorbell rang. I checked my watch. It was 2:58 A.M.
“City utility,” the guy at the door said. “Were you aware that your power was out?”
(Why, no, gosh and golly – I thought five bucket trucks and the generators were part of a parade!)
“Yeah. So what’s up?”
“Well, you’re going to have to call an electrician before we can hook you back up. When the pole went down, it took out your weatherhead and your T-bar.”
The weatherhead is that metal pole thingy where the power lines come into your house; mine was twisted and bent down to a 30-degree angle.
“How much is that going to run me?”
“Dunno. But we can’t do anything until you get it looked at.
“Act of God, you know?”
The one electrician I know, who would have come over for free, was on his way south to an electrical convention; the soonest the guy he recommended could get here is “between noon and 2 p.m.”
It’s not like I can get out of the house to get anywhere anyway. There’s a bucket truck parked across my driveway, anchored into the asphalt.
“We’re going to be here awhile,” the guy in the bucket said.
I have my iPod, my mobile and a cup of French press coffee – have camp stove, will brew – and scant little else to do but wait for the Calvary to come.
Dingle with my weatherhead.


Jason said...

Holy shit man. Just what you needed today... eh?