Sometimes I write these posts and then keep them on my computer for while, because other, more timely topics come to mind. It’s also handy to have a backlog in case I can’t think of anything to write about.
My previous post, about all the light switches in our house, was just such a post. I actually wrote it months ago. And it originally contained a paragraph about the garage:
Finally, there’s the garage. It has two red switches. The first is clearly labeled as an emergency on/off switch for the oil burner. The other one isn’t a switch at all, but an illuminated red button with no markings whatsoever. It just sits there in the dark, glowing crimson, begging someone to press it on a dare. The house was built at the height of the cold war, and for all I know, the button is to launch a missile at Russia. Or maybe it self-destructs the house in the event of a Communist invasion. I do know I ain’t touching it.
Okay, fine. So when I was finally ready to post my light switch story, I thought I’d include a photograph of the mysterious red button. I went to the garage with my cell phone, turned to where the button was, and…
…it was gone!
I was fairly certain I was looking at the right place, but since I often have trouble remembering where I left the book I was reading that morning, I searched the entire garage. No button.
Had I imagined the red button? Had it been part of a dream, along with my superstar baseball abilities that would bring a championship to the Mets, make me the idol of millions, and put me in the Hall of Fame as the oldest MVP winner in history?
So I confirmed the red button’s existence with Barbara.
Me: Didn’t there used to be an illuminated red button in the garage?
Barb: Yeah, sure.
Me: It’s gone now.
I don’t know how Barbara can be so unperturbed by such things as disappearing red buttons. We suspect that it was removed when the junction box for the new generator was installed, but we still don’t know what it was for, or what emergency it was designed to deal with, or whether we are now unprotected from such a disaster by virtue of having lost our illuminated red button.
What if one night we’re sitting in the living room watching TV when, suddenly, all kinds of alarms go off and a big sign descends from the ceiling saying:
“WARNING! WARNING! Asteroid impact imminent! Press the red emergency button in the garage at once!”
Boy would I be pissed off.
See you soon (barring asteroid impact).