I’m not great about fixing things. And by “not great,” I pretty much mean I’m awful about it. Once a thing stops working, I chuck it in the back of a closet somewhere and buy a new one.
I feel like there might be a story about how my lamp stopped working, so I bought a new one and then when my friend came to assemble the new one, he noticed that the old one wasn’t broken, the bulb had just burned out.
However, I’m only 92% sure that happened, and I’m terrible at math and boy, does that story make me sound like a grade A jabroni, so, let’s say that never happened. (Shut up, Fischel.) (Okay, I might now be 96% sure that happened. *whistles*)
Anyway, so the lamp was absolutely definitely probably not at all broken, and I quickly replaced it. I needed light, it wasn’t giving me any, end of story. Lamp, dumpster; dumpster lamp.
When my transmission went kaput, I bought a new car.
Repairs? Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I do admire the handy types though. The ones with a tool box, a light touch and elbow grease. They bring the dead things back to life; they see opportunity in the trash pile.