I have mentioned before that, unlike most people on this earth who lead ordinary lives, I know exactly how I will die some day.
The last image I see, before my departure, will be the big ugly face of an angry bear. I am deathly afraid of bears and they say that what we fear we attract, so I am doomed. But I was reminded today that there may be an alternative exit waiting for me.
My neighbour asked me to come over to his house and replace a light switch in his kitchen. I am as qualified to do electrical work as Donald Trump is to run a country, but I am nothing if not up for a challenge. I told him to make sure the power was off. (I have discovered over the years since that actual electricians often don’t bother to turn off the power while they work.)
I showed up for the job with wire stripper in one hand and needlenose pliers in the other. I wanted to show my neighbour the awesomeness of my electrical skills.
Ten seconds into the job, the one strand of hair that is left on my head stood straight up, my eyes turned into lasers and I could see right through the wall. I also broke into song – the Ukrainian National Anthem, I believe it was.
The hydro was still on.
Oops.
Undaunted, we finally found how to turn the power off for real and I finished the job. Funny thing though. I went to put a frozen meat pie in the oven for supper but after holding it in my hand for 30 seconds, it was done.
This is the fourth time I have electrified myself over the years. I am starting to think it’s good for me. I feel completely energized afterwards. It seems to jazz up my heart.
And I can read in bed after dark without turning on the light. So that’s a bonus.
In light of all this, this is the likely outcome: I will be electrifying myself by accident some day with more juice than I can handle when a murderous bear will break into my house (or my neighbour’s) just at that moment.
It will all make for a very interesting obit for the late Jim Hagarty. In solidarity, mourners will be asked to bring wire strippers and needlenose pliers to the funeral.
And a large can of bear spray. In case my killer’s cousin drops in.
©2016 Jim Hagarty
