It’s 6:55 p.m. on Friday night, and I’m zooming down Interstate 95, trying to get to Home Depot in time for ceiling fan installation class.
That’s right: ceiling fan installation class. On a Friday night. I am that pathetic when it comes to home improvement. (Social calendar improvement, now that’s a column for another day.)
An ugly, fake wood-and-brass ceiling fan in my kitchen hadn’t worked since the day I moved in. When I’m cooking or throwing parties, the temperature rises to about 120 degrees.
An electrician estimated that replacing one would run me at least $75–more than I intended on spending on the fan itself. Surely, I could handle this project.
7 p.m.–Right on time. Only problem is, nobody’s here. No orange apron-wearing professor, no classmates. I am the only person in Palm Beach County at this moment who cares about ceiling fan installation. That’s a lonely feeling.
7:10–At last, my teacher David, who must have drawn the short straw in the employee lounge, slowly wheels up a cart bearing a boxed fan.
7:30–David has patiently explained how to assemble a fan, connect the wiring, and attach it to the ceiling. When he asks if I have any questions, I confess that I don’t understand exactly how that last part is going to work. He looks really defeated and lets out a slow breath. We start over.
7:35–I get it! And I pick out my model, the Hampton Bay Minuet II ($38.99), a small version of a regular fan that’s perfect for my small kitchen. David tells me to call if I get stuck. Then he remembers that he’s going on vacation the next day and sends me on my way with a kind smile.
Saturday
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8 a.m.–Installation Day! I head to the breaker box and kill the power to the kitchen. Disasters may occur, but electrocution will not be one of them. The stereo is cranked up in the living room for inspiration.
8:01–First, I’ve got to get the existing fan down. My fear is that it will crash the second I loosen the first screw, pinning me to the floor with my only hope of rescue being a dog who doesn’t have a history of running for help when I’m in a jam.
8:02–The first screw is out, and the decorative piece called the canopy, which covers all of the screws and the hanging bracket, slides down a half-inch, resting on the top of the blades. The fan, I am relieved to see, stays put.
8:03–Really put. I’ve got no room to get between the top of the loosened canopy and the ceiling. Only a nimble-fingered helper monkey could squeeze in to get to the hanging bracket attaching this thing to the ceiling, and I don’t have a nimble-fingered helper monkey.
8:04–I make the first of what I figure will be several phone calls to my parents in Maryland. Before I even finish telling them I’m installing a new fan, my father interjects, sounding slightly panicked, “Did you turn off the power at the breaker?” His fears allayed, I explain my predicament. Mom suggests I remove the fan blades to get the canopy off. Moms know everything.
8:25–Now I’m flying. Removing the blades lets the canopy slide off, exposing the hanging bracket whose screws anchor the fan to the ceiling. I also shuck the lightbulbs and their globe coverings to ensure that if this behemoth gives into the sweet pull of gravity, I won’t be sweeping up glass.
8:30–Now for the wiring. I remove the wire nuts (small things like marker caps that bind wire ends together) and disconnect the wires. One copper wire totally covered in black plastic is identified in my instruction book as the hot wire, but it isn’t stripped at the end as is usually necessary for wires to charge each other. “That’s weird,” I tell the dog.
8:40–Up goes the hanging bracket for the new fan. And this device features the secret to being able to tackle this project alone: a hook to hang the canopy and motor for the new fan, relieving the weight while I connect the new wires. Everyone will later ask me how in the heck I could do this project myself, and this little metal nub is the answer.
8:45–Wiring is a breeze, contrary to what I had feared. Since I can color-coordinate my wardrobe, I can handle matching like-colored wires for this step. The unstripped wire continues to puzzle me, but I figure that removing any of its plastic coating must create a fire hazard, so with a shrug, I wire it up.
9:01–Now for the blades, which I now realize I should have assembled last night, since attaching the wood pieces to the metal arms takes a while. I screw in the blades and lightbulb, and attach the glass globe. I flip the small switch on the fan motor to the up position, as should be done in warm weather to circulate cool air downward. (When it’s cold, I’ll need to flip it down to do the opposite.)
9:38–Moment of truth. I flip the breaker, turn my face upward and wait for the chilled air to come a flowin’ down.
9:38:01–“@$%&!”
9:39–Cranky and tired, I unscrew the light bulb and glass globe. This stage is peppered with expletives and multiple screw droppings. What exactly are quarter-inch screws designed for other than slipping out of clammy fingers? David the Home Depot guy is probably sitting on a beach somewhere sucking down guava juice, and I’m stuck trying to fish tiny screws out from under my stove and figure out where it all went wrong, alone. From the stereo, OutKast taunts me with multiple “Hey ya’s.”
9:40–“Hey Ya” is officially the most annoying song ever.
9:45–Staring into the once-again gaping guts of the fan’s wiring, I determine that I’ve done it correctly. Nothing is wrong. This fan is clearly broken. I start mentally penning a dissatisfied letter to the folks at Hampton Bay.
9:48–Something tells me the unstripped hot wire warrants a closer look. I remove its wire nut and deduce there’s no way it’s delivering any kind of charge without being stripped. Nor could it have ever been. The original fan was never broken; it was installed incorrectly.
9:55–The fan is back up on the ceiling. Moment of truth, Take 2.
9:55:01–My shimmying and yippeeing around the kitchen forces the dog to flee. Tired and sweaty, I plop let the cool air waft over me. At this moment, I am my own biggest fan.