Screwdriver in a Fuse Box

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True Stories: Screwdriver in a Fuse Box

I love being smart and being able to figure things out. I like being to read people, to look at their face and have an understanding of them. I like learning things. Too bad this story shows the opposite. This true story proves how even the thinkers have lapses of intellectual brilliance, where the common vestiges and faculties of the mental elite show their seedy underbelly of forgetfulness forged in the fires of a feral like curiosity and super-hero like absentmindedness.

Yeah that’s right, I said I’m smart… just not here.

Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s continue with the story.

So I’m in college one day when a buddy of mine, a fellow brain-surgeon, walks up to me and asks me what those metal boxes on the pillars are?

“Oh. Those are fuse boxes. I used to play with them last year. But they’re dead now. They don’t use them anymore.”

Now I know this because I had employed the power of the scientific method in finding out whether or not these had juice flowing through them. The previous year I would open one of these boxes up and turn the switch off then on then off then on.

So long survival instinct.

I wish it weren’t true… except it’s so funny.

Yes, I did this.

And each time I did it I didn’t hear a single person scream or any machine stop. Nothing changed, stopped, started or was out of place. Dead as dead can be.

“Well, can you open one up?”

“Oh hell yeah I can. I can even outsmart the safety switch. See? Check this out.”

So there we are at one of these fuse boxes and I try opening one of them up. But this thing ain’t budging. I pull and pry but that door ain’t moving at all. But that doesn’t stop us. I check for the nearest piece of wood to open this door. With it we start banging at the edge of the lip, then employ a hammer in the banging… against the piece of wood… against the metal lip of the fuse box door. BANG. BANG. BANG!!! Nothing. It must have been painted shut. No matter, perseverance obviously out voiced reason and sanity.

“Oh wait. Let’s just go to the fuse box in my studio.” So, fifteen sown the hall we came to the next fuse box. This one was much easier to open.

The fuse box had two thick, thick fuses. The fuses were about as thick as my thumb and the metal filament was easily the width of 2 thumbnails. Usually fuse filaments are thinner than paper. At one time, these fuses looked like they supported some major current. But it’s okay, they weren’t now.

“See this thing here? This is the safety switch. It won’t let you have the door open and turn the switch to on. But I figured out how to outsmart it. If you just hold this little latch and… ”

With a click the switch went up. Now of course when presented with a situation such as this, those blessed with common sense and present to the fragility of their own life, would mutter something like: “Oh. How nice. Maybe you should close that now. I’m leaving. You’re crazy,” followed by the sounds of scampering footsteps. On that day though, we were rocket scientists with no relationship to reason. So he asked:

“Can you get that fuse out?”

“Sure you can!”

I reached right in that fuse box and…

Boy was that fuse stuck in there tight. I wrapped my fingers around as best as I could and nothing. That fuse was Stuck man… stuck. I needed a little help. Hmm…

“Oh, here’s the flat-head screwdriver.” With a weighty shoulder I shoved the flathead between the fuse lead and the connector…

“Man, that fuse is Stuck!” I was prying that flathead around between the fuse and connector for not. It was unnaturally stuck. But I kept at it though. Amen for inspired ingenuity. I realized I needed to take this simple machine and enhance it.

I needed a sturdy fulcrum.

I looked at the wall of the fuse box, nice thick metal, and slammed the screwdriver shaft against it for leverage. And about as soon as I did that…

BZZZZT POW!!!!!!

Sparks SHOT from the fuse box. A small explosion blasted from the fuse box. Blind light bolted out. Sparks shot all over my friend. It was like magic, like that baseball player had just broken the lights in that movie “The Miracle.” A small billow of smoked rose slowly into the ceiling.

We stood dumb, stupid.

Thank God for thick plastic handles on screwdrivers.

Soon after I knew I should have been dead. I was stunned, dazed. Looking down at the screwdriver I saw a crater and explosion pattern reaching down the shaft. It looked like a small meteor had hit my screwdriver, except the meteor was rectangularly shaped. The wall of the fuse box had a small semi-circle cutout in it now that it didn’t before.

I arc-welded the screwdriver and the fuse box wall together. So much electricity passed that the metal exploded and liquefied. I guess the fuse boxes weren’t as dead as I thought.

I left early and went to a local restaurant. Had a big freaking BBQ burger and pondered my Life, and all the resultant newspaper headlines from what could have happened:

“Man too stupid to deserve his own Life. Sticks screwdriver in fuse box.”

“Mother of dead idiot too embarrassed to attend on sons funeral.”

“New Winner of Darwin Award!!”