Light Conversation

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I almost missed it. If I’d looked away as I closed the refrigerator door, 1 would have. But the light didn’t go out. Poly explained later that they (he? it?) had shorted out the switch (at some personal sacrifice) to keep it on, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

People joke about whether the refrigerator light really goes out when the door closes. If you look, though, you’ll see it turn off just before that, when the door pushes the switch in. But this time it didn’t. I’d been getting a late-night snack, didn’t bother turning on the main kitchen light, and the refrigerator light stayed on right up until the door seal hit the frame.

“That’s odd,” I said to myself, aloud. I do that. I opened and closed the door again, watching closely. The light stayed on.

I didn’t know that the closed refrigerator was still illuminated, any more than Schrodinger knew if his cat was alive or dead, but a half-dozen schemes to decide came to mind. If I could find my meter I could check the current draw, but I’d have to drag the fridge away from the outlet. There was enough shelf space between the milk carton, the pickle and jam jars, and yesterday’s leftovers to put my camcorder, but the battery wasn’t charged. Out in the garage I excavated the weed whacker and unreeled a foot of monofilament from the business end. Now I had a crude fiber-optic cable. I closed the refrigerator door on the nylon line, one end protruding. The tip glowed; the light was still on.

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