One of the conveniences of kibbutz life is the availability of trained professionals, like electricians, to help with any problem you might have. Living in Real World, America I never actually saw an electrician in the flesh. They were the guys who worked in your apartment before you moved in, and then you had no more use for them. If you had a light bulb on the ceiling that had to be changed, you either climbed the ladder and did it yourself -- in my case, not likely -- or you cultivated friendships with tall people who could be imposed upon to do it for you.
But in the kibbutz, you phone the electrician or today just put in a request through the website, and a good-natured guy shows up with a ladder and quickly solves the problem, kindly asking if anything else needs doing before he leaves. It may be the American in me, but this is a privilege I don't like to abuse. So I will do whatever it takes to avoid making that call.
All this came to mind the other night when I turned on the bedside light. There was a pop, there were sparks, and the light bulb came shooting out of the lamp, landing in my sandal. I was amazed. This was the first time I had seen the electrical equivalent of projectile vomiting. Then came the realization that I was in real trouble: the glass bulb had separated from the metal base which was still in the lamp.
How to get it out? Pliers? Too big. Fingers? Too tender. I remembered hearing that a raw potato could be jammed onto the base letting you unscrew it, but this seemed like a wanton waste of food at today's prices. Thank G-d for eyebrow tweezers! With this divinely inspired tool I was able to grab and gently turn the base, getting it out. And that is how one kibbutznik changed a light bulb without the help of an electrician.
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