I've been promising myself that I would catalog the events of the last three tragic years of my life, and tonight feels like the right moment. Over the next few pages, I shall bring to you, the reader, a tale the likes of which shall never be made into a movie, for it would be far too unbelievable for the human eye to witness.
On the afternoon of July 13th, 2004, a massive windstorm knocked over a huge tree in my front yard. Or rather, it split the tree in half. Here, see for yourself.
The tree pulled the power lines off the wall of the house, and while it didn't interrupt the flow of power, it was soon the be the cause of many frustrations and quite a bit of drama. 
We called Nashville Electric Service (NES), and they said that someone would be by shortly to disconnect the wires from the street and survey the damage. They cut the wiring off the pole that night and threw it into the front yard. Three days go by, and I'm still calling NES to see when we'll get our power restored. At this point, I was informed that we must call an electrician to fix our house before NES can hook us back into the grid. Now that's something I didn't know. I have to pay my electrician to fix my house because a tree fell on their wires. Hmmmm.
A&F Electric shows up on the afternoon of the fourth day to rebuild the weatherhead on the side of the house. I guess it was a rather busy time for all involved, but to their credit, they did show up right when they said they would, and they got the job done with speed and skill. The lead A&F guy called Nashville Electric and told them it's good to go.
A pair of technicians pulls into the driveway with a cherrypickin' bucket truck. Once they've connected the wires to the top of that weatherhead you see in the image just above, they drive out to the street to make the final connection.
At this moment, all hell breaks loose. Appliances begin exploding and melting down. Wires begin burning. My wife ran outside and shouted at the workers to cut the power, but they didn't listen. One of them asked to see the circiut breaker panel, and she told him it was in the basement on the other side of the locked roll-up garage door. He insisted that she go back into the house and open that door so he could see the panel.
Against her better judgment, and in the midst of this crisis, she runs back into the house and down into the smoke-filled basement to unlock that door. Of course, what nobody knows at this time is that the cold water pipes, which are electrified by the improper wiring connection, rest upon the springs of the rolling garage door whenever its closed. Shocking moment coming up!
She grabs the handle, and is instantly aglow in the warmth of 240 volts of power, which we're paying for as it flows through the electric meter into her body. Ironic, isn't it?Â
[because this story is going to span a period of years, and because it's 2am, I'm going to bed. You can read more later when I re-commence writing. On the other hand, if I'm going to use words like re-commence, maybe I should stop writing altogether...]
