After several decades of home improvement projects, I've learned one hard, indelible truth. No matter what the enclosed instructions say about "easy installation", something will always rear its head to take the project from a difficulty of 2 or 3 to a painful 7 or 8.
The first time this rule came into play, I was installing a ceiling fan for Andrea's parents in their dining room. The fan assembly and wiring was straightforward, and hanging the fan went without a hitch. I was almost home free, but as I was walking the joists in the attic, my foot slipped and my leg wound up knee deep through the hallway ceiling.
Withdrawing my leg, I peered down through the hole to see Andrea's family looking up at me, curious looks on their faces, through their new, unintended skylight.
I hastily called in a buddy to help with the patch job before Andrea's dad got home. We got the repair done, but being my first drywall patch, it wasn't perfect. Even when I walk that hallway today, it still bugs me when I see it.
On a recent trip home to Long Beach, I installed a fan in my childhood bedroom at Mom's. Learning from past experiences, I brought up plywood into the attic to use as a work platform and was exquisitely careful of any limb placement.
I'm not sure how solid the electrical codes were during construction in the late '60s, but I was only expecting to find three wires in the ceiling fixture - the standard black, white, and green. Instead, a dozen cables terminated in that junction box.
I tried to keep them straight, but a quick test after one attempt had every outlet in the room controlled by the single light switch. It took several trips back into the attic to square things up. Did I mention this was in the middle of summer?
From the heat and humidity of southern attics to the depths of bathroom plumbing, at least my DIY journey also took me to cooler climes.
Back during the pandemic, social media was awash in folks showing off their home improvement projects. There was a plethora of home-built pizza ovens, new home offices and gyms, and refreshed landscaping. I, on the other hand, installed a bidet.
After watching all the moronic nonsense of muttonheads hoarding toilet paper, I was determined to not get caught up in that flying monkey circus. The chosen unit was ordered, shipped, and delivered via "contactless" protocols, and I was ready for the install.
Again, following the instructions for the "easy, painless install", everything looked good and connections were made. When I turned the water on, a nice steady drip ensued from one of the connections. Great. I turned off the water, reversed my install, ensured my Teflon tape wasn't janky, and buttoned everything up again. Still leaking. Rinse and repeat. Still leaking.
When I looked at the hose end, I discovered the internal washer wasn't seating properly. With that finally squared away, I attempted my fourth assembly.
It didn't help that the bathroom sink cabinet was impossibly close to the commode and I couldn't get a good angle on these connections. After contorting myself yet again into a pose that would make a master yogi cringe, connections were made, water was turned on, and finally, no leaks.
From unintended skylights to unexpected plumbing adventures, I squint sideways at 'easy installation' claims. Yet, homeownership is just another kind of adventure. So I'll approach with caution, tools in hand, and a wry smile – ready for whatever curveball awaits behind that deceptively straightforward instruction manual.
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