Portrait of Ms. Fluffster's head by Danette Byatt
While reminiscing about home renovations past and present, it struck me how often things have fallen on my head throughout my life due to construction flaws.
The first time I remember was because of a shelf just out of my reach (a life-long issue). I was young, maybe 6 or 7, and helpfully making my own breakfast. I’d made toast slathered with honey and was returning the large honey jar to its shelf, well above my head. The loose-lidded jar slipped from my sticky fingers, sending a cascade of honey onto my noggin.
Chaos ensued. First into the kitchen was our dog, who began licking up the honey spreading across the floor. Then my mother, who marched me straight into the shower.
The dog lapped up too much honey and threw up. My brother tracked through it and spread honey all over the house. When my sister saw the dog vomiting, she threw up beside her. While my mother cleaned up, I was singing in the shower.
The next such incident came years later. As a young adult, I briefly worked in the insurance division of a bank in the Netherlands. I sat on one side of a table with several others seated across from me. Behind me was a row of metal cabinets, considerably taller than me, stuffed with shelf upon shelf of binders. All our work was stored in these.
When something struck and knocked my head and shoulders down onto the table, I assumed there’d been an earthquake, and peacefully waited for rescue amid the outcry going on around me.
As it turned out, the cabinets hadn’t been secured to the wall, and one simply tipped over onto me, with all of the binders it contained flying over my head.
Though I was only a little stunned, and not seriously hurt, my employer went into overdrive. I was rushed to a doctor, examined, and then driven home and told to take the rest of the week off (with pay). Get well cards and flowers followed.
I felt no ill after effects, except for listing slightly to the right or left when walking for the next few days. I’d find myself smack up against the wall whenever I tried to walk down the middle of any hall. Rather disconcerting.
When I got back to work, the cabinets had all been bolted to the walls, and people I’d never met before introduced themselves to ask after my health. I was briefly famous. It was all rather fun.
The next instance was again at home. When we first moved into our current apartment, the kitchen contained a large home-made cabinet, with shelves above it. Because our kitchen table fit best in this space, we removed the cabinet. Assuming that the shelves were properly affixed to the wall, we left them there to store our jars of beans and flour.
As I stood on a ladder wiping shelves down, the entire structure suddenly collapsed.
Fortunately, it knocked me to the far side of the ladder and most shelves came down on the other. Mr. Fluffster came running at my shriek. It took him several days to recover from the sight of me on the floor surrounded by shelving (and the few jars I’d already positioned).
The shelves hadn’t been properly secured to the wall studs, and were supported only by the cabinet underneath. We never did replace them; that wall contains only framed pictures to this day.
My latest home misadventure was recent and involved our new LED kitchen light (above). As I stood at the counter preparing dinner, one of the screws securing the fixture to the ceiling suddenly pulled out of its anchor. The fixture swung off the ceiling to deliver a glancing blow to my head. Once again, shriek, Mr. Fluffster racing to the rescue, etc.
Fortunately, electrical wiring prevented the light fixture from crashing to the floor (and directly onto my head). It just swung down to one side, dangling next to me until Mr. Fluffster detached it from its mounting bracket (below, from both angles).
The Fluffster offspring arrived shortly after. He insisted I wear my bicycle helmet to finish making dinner, just in case the mounting bracket also fell off. I agreed, just to keep the peace.
The electrician returned, and with profuse apologies, re-secured the fixture to the ceiling with twice as many anchored screws as he’d used in the first place. It’s now there for life.
Moral of this story? My head can survive a lot, but maybe I should just stay out of kitchens and offices.
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