Why I Often Wish We Were Blue Collar
I have to go to the house today. To meet with the seller's agent and the seller's electrician and discuss the situation with our breaker box, which our inspector claims is "too small."
I know dick about electricity, other than if you pee on a wall and come into contact with a light socket, you will never pee on a wall again.
So I called my Industrial Electrical Engineer father, who confused me even more. His advice was to nod a lot, say "uh-huh," and then tell them my husband and I would discuss it with our realtor and my Industrial Electrical Engineer father and get back to them. Which is fine, but he seemed to think we could move in with the electrical situation unchanged and be just fine and dandy.
Which causes me much inner turmoil because, you see, my dad is an electrician. I grew up with the gross misunderstanding that if it has a penis, it can fix anything, because my dad could. I eventually learned the ugly truth. And then I eventually learned the uglier truth--that a lot of the time when my dad talks like he knows his shit, he really doesn't.
I will never, ever question my father when it comes to electrical shit, because he's been playing with Reddy Kilowatt since I was a zygote. But I fear that perhaps I failed to communicate some vital information in our phone conversation, or maybe he doesn't know the whole picture?
Oh, well. The good news is that lots of coffee this morning, followed by stupid emails from db, have me wired for sound and ready to bite someone's head off, so if the seller's agent gives me any shit, I am more than ready to put her in her place. I also know that the sellers have until the end of September to unload this place and pay their back taxes, or the county will own it and they get bupkus--which is good to know. Good to know, indeed.
Wish me luck.
I know dick about electricity, other than if you pee on a wall and come into contact with a light socket, you will never pee on a wall again.
So I called my Industrial Electrical Engineer father, who confused me even more. His advice was to nod a lot, say "uh-huh," and then tell them my husband and I would discuss it with our realtor and my Industrial Electrical Engineer father and get back to them. Which is fine, but he seemed to think we could move in with the electrical situation unchanged and be just fine and dandy.
Which causes me much inner turmoil because, you see, my dad is an electrician. I grew up with the gross misunderstanding that if it has a penis, it can fix anything, because my dad could. I eventually learned the ugly truth. And then I eventually learned the uglier truth--that a lot of the time when my dad talks like he knows his shit, he really doesn't.
I will never, ever question my father when it comes to electrical shit, because he's been playing with Reddy Kilowatt since I was a zygote. But I fear that perhaps I failed to communicate some vital information in our phone conversation, or maybe he doesn't know the whole picture?
Oh, well. The good news is that lots of coffee this morning, followed by stupid emails from db, have me wired for sound and ready to bite someone's head off, so if the seller's agent gives me any shit, I am more than ready to put her in her place. I also know that the sellers have until the end of September to unload this place and pay their back taxes, or the county will own it and they get bupkus--which is good to know. Good to know, indeed.
Wish me luck.
posted by Mitzi Green at 12:00 PM
1 Comments:
From the sounds of it, your current electrical service is maxed out. There are no more free spots for say a hot tub, an addition or anything else that would have to be wired for electricity. You will be fine unless you need more circuits. Then, you'll have to have a new service or box put it. THAT can be 'spensive.
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