The grid

A violent lightning strike blew out the power to our neighborhood yesterday afternoon.

After several hours, a flotilla of utility trucks invaded our alley. No fewer than seven were lined up to replace the transformer behind our backyard fence.

With the arrival of the trucks, I wandered the alley to find out what was what. Let’s just say on this summer day in Texas, I wanted to express my keen interest in the situation and how quickly it might be resolved. (No AC = no air conditioning.)

Yet I didn’t want to seem pushy. Like I was impatient. That I was somehow displeased with these guys and their lack of progress. The situation was delicate.

My strategy was to show empathy, mix in a little gratitude, and show that, hey, I know a little bit about electricity. They needed to understand that I’m not just some suburban numbskull with a fusebox.

So I coolly sauntered up to one of the guys in a hard hat and tool belt. With only the slightest effort I made eye contact, gave a knowing nod and, quite possibly, offered an arched eyebrow of understanding.

“Thanks for getting us back on the grid,” I said.

Structurally, the sentence was good. The syntax, fine.

But at some point during my lunch today, I couldn’t help but think that across town, a group of workers at the local utility were enjoying a hearty laugh at the homeowner who spoke of the grid yesterday.

Now, I couldn’t tell you what a grid is, if we’re on one, or how many grid units I pay for in my monthly electricity bill.

For all I know, I could pop the faceplate off one of our electrical outlets and see the grid. Or hook a 9-volt to the grid and use it to open my garage door. Maybe the grid is a magical, Tron-like dimension filled with unicorns and wizards who shoot cartoon-y lightning bolts from their fingertips.

My wife reminds me I probably learned “the grid” lingo from Die Hard.

I think the hard-hat knew that.

But somehow I felt compelled to let this Reddy Kilowatt know that I get this whole electricity thing.

What motivated me to try to speak this guy’s vernacular? Maybe it’s a corollary of the “When in Rome . . .” truism. (When in the midst of a trained service professional, act and speak like one.) Maybe I was afraid he’d try to pull one over on me. (Uhhh . . . yeah . . . your power is on. Can’t you see it?)

Actually, I think I was just trying to make a bond, a connection with this guy. That from my razor-thin knowledge of the subject, I could wield a single word or phrase to earn me some quick cred.

I’ve done it with fishermen. (Catch any lunkers?) Weightlifters. (Working the lats?) Carpenters. (You like the lathe?) Even teenagers. (What’s shaking, homeslice?)

Come to think of it, this approach with teachers and professors has actually resulted in a couple of college degrees . . .