 |
| I was going to post a photo of an elephant giving birth, but cooler heads prevailed. |
We started liking it in the autumn of 2019. That was when we first got in touch with a representative of California Closets in order to bring phase one of our chambre to life. In case you're wondering, I don't know what makes the closet Californian, but I hope it isn't bursting into flames in a moment's notice.
Then, last March -- just as we decided on a new bed and paint color -- a little speed bump otherwise known as the pandemic went into high gear, and shut down every business that didn't serve food or booze. Roughly five months went by before it was time to give birth.
 |
| Don't be fooled. This thing is a demon. |
Suddenly, seemingly within days, the superintendent painted the room; our closet was delivered and installed; the new ceiling light fixture arrived; and the bed appeared.
But you know what the most difficult part of this has been? The new light switch. Not installing it -- that's what we pay the super for. Nope, what proved to be the devil's own work was using it.
To explain, this isn't just your typical switch. Ours is a sensor, meaning the light goes on automatically when you enter. Because, frankly, we've earned the right not to go through the rigmarole of tapping a switch.
I thought I was stupid when I was obliged to read the instructions to figure out how to answer my first smartphone. Now I had to do the same to turn on a light. But first, let's take a look at the installation instructions.
Fortunately, the super had to plow through this pig's dinner, so I could just sit back and chuckle quietly. By the way, if I unfolded it to the French-language instructions, it would be almost the size of a tabloid newspaper. And don't worry that you can't read it; it wouldn't mean anything to you anyway.
We didn't flip it over to the "how to use" side until after the super left, which was a mistake.
Again, you don't have to read it. In fact, you don't want to. In order for us to enjoy the luxury of not turning on and off the overhead light by such a plebeian way as, well, turning it on and off, we had to program the switch, like it was a rocket launch.
 |
| And the Lord said, "Let there be light you don't have to touch. |
Not being a NASA scientist, I left it up to the wife, who, over the weekend, got the hang of it. In no time (depending on your definition of "no time", because to me, it definitely took some time), we were walking into the bedroom and whoosh, the light came on without even an open sesame. Or turn on sesame.
Figuring we had that job settled, I went in there later in the evening. On cue, the light went on, allowing me to have a long autumn's Kindle read.
About 15 minutes later, I noticed that the room was getting dimmer. I knew that the sun was setting earlier these days, but not faster. It took only a moment to realize that the light went off. Like I said, a NASA scientist I'm not.
I notified the electrician (i.e., my wife), who explained, unlike every other household light in the world, ours goes off when it no longer senses any movement. Which means if I'm in there reading, I have to jump up and down like some kind of a nut every 15 minutes. Or 10, or five one -- whatever it's programmed to do.
That is, unless you flick the little switch at the bottom. Then it goes on and off manually (and stays on or off), like every other light switch in every other home. Now that I'm at the age when going to the bathroom at night is an Olympic sport, you know just how plebeian I'm going to be when it comes to this thing. No way do I want this thing repeatedly going on just because of a case of nocturia.
But remember: we can program it!
**************
No comments:
Post a Comment