At several points in my life, I've had to recognize and accept I have some significant cognitive limitations. Economics. Salsa Dancing. When To Use Sarcasm. These are things that have remained elusive to comprehend and impossible to process. They fall into the same black hole a person's name does when they introduce themselves. I could look you right in the eye, repeat your name right back to you, but my brain most definitely didn't register any sound. So unless you're wearing a name tag, to me, you'll always be "Señor." One of those limitations is also Adapting Electrical Currency in foreign countries.
Somehow, last year, I fried my iPhone in Geneva. It got really hot, then kept turning off and on, as if I had downloaded an App to simulate what would happen if Roxy continuously sat on it (well, it died).
So this year I was determined not to repeat the disaster. I brought along an American powerstrip, thinking that I could plug my iPhone, computer, and whatever else into it without a problem. I just had to adapt the plug from an American male to the Two Pronged French fangs of electrical death. Which I did, quite easily.
Clearly, there was some Math involved that I had overlooked. The powerstrip exploded in my hand, a bright blast of sparks shooting out from inside the plastic, black burns streaking my palms.
Except, it wasn't until I looked up that I realized I had blown the entire wall out. Everything was dead. Everything. All the lights. All the electronics. The computer. The television. Every expensive electronic device these people owned and had entrusted us to use while we stayed in their apartment, were all now quite possibly garbage.
Leni turned away from the black void of the monitor, eyes like daggers.
I half smiled, and said "Well, at least I'm alive..."
She smiled back. And replied "For the moment..."
"I'll, uh, I'll go check the breakers."
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