He Can Fix (Almost) Anything? Yeah, Right

An Engineer's Life

October / November 05 By: Jeff Taylor Volume 3 Number 5

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I'm an engineer. I was put on this earth to fix things. In order to accomplish my mission, I must carry many weapons in my arsenal. These include screwdrivers, knives, duct tape, batteries and, of course, a box of old power cords. You know what I'm talking about. Your can opener valiantly gives its last joule of energy trying to liberate a few dozen innocent boiled and peeled tomatoes from the unjustly imposed incarceration of a 39-ounce tin can. And after its death, your faithful servant gives a post mortem gift of life by donating its power cord so that others may continue to serve. It's the circle of life for appliances.

The First Law of Thermodynamics states that energy can be neither created nor destroyed, only transferred. So, by cutting the power cord off a gadget with a burned-up motor or transformer, one can breathe new life into the victim of a random act of violence, like when your new puppy decides to "play with" the cord of your new 60-inch plasma TV. Puppies and power cords are like matter and anti-matter—€”they can only coexist under strict control. (Just search Google for "Star Trek" and "reactor breech" to comprehend the magnitude of potential destruction.)

Duct tape is a wonderful tool, but it can repair an inadvertently whacked weed-whacker cord only so many times. When it looks less like a power cord, and more like a giant string of rosary beads, it needs to be replaced. When the sight of your power cord brings to mind the unfortunate demise of the Three Blind Mice, at the "hands" of an anaconda with an appetite, you need to take action. And, hey, you've got a big ol' box of cords standing by, ready to serve.
See, it's the circle of life! Hmmm —€¦ Now, where is that box of power cords?

I was in the lab recently, just doing what engineers do. You know, pointing out the obvious and questioning the indisputable. I noticed a power cord—€¦in the trash! I couldn't believe my eyes! Who could have done such a thing? It was just lying there, limp and crestfallen. There wasn't any sign of physical abuse or mishandling. It wasn't chewed or charred. It appeared to be in mint condition.
At that moment, I was overcome with an overwhelming clarity of vision. I knew I had to rescue this misdirected cable. I dove into that bottomless pit of cast-off stuff (aka: the trash can), fighting off the menacing advances of dried up felt tips and decomposing banana peels, shrugging off paper cuts like they were—€¦ well, paper cuts, and heroically retrieved The Precious. "There, there, little fella. You're safe now. I know of a place where you'll be welcomed with open arms. A place where you can run and play with others just like you." If only I could find that box!

My wife just doesn't understand my need for this treasure trove of reserve conductors. That's why I can't seem to find it at the moment. She doesn't have a clue how that box of cords, some handed down from father to son for generations, could possibly have any value. If only she knew how often she reaps the rewards of that "box of junk." My wife beams as she tells her friends, "My husband can fix anything. I just casually mention to him that it's broken, (—€˜the laser printer's not making that awful noise any more, but it sure smells bad') and ten minutes later, voila, it's fixed."

To which, her friends usually respond, "You're so lucky to have a big, strong, handsome provider and protector to care for you. When I tell my husband something needs to be fixed, he runs off to the hardware store, and is gone for hours. Then, when he returns, he's got all this stuff, most of which can't possibly have anything to do with fixing what's broken."

Well, rest assured, members of my wife's posse, sometimes a broken doorbell can only be fixed with a 36", 12-horsepower, gas-powered chain saw with nitrous oxide booster, an underwater-capable acetylene torch, and a four-ton capacity floor jack with limited edition NASCAR decals.

As he observes, Jeff Taylor is indeed an engineer at Applied Technology Associates in Albuquerque.