Lightbulb Moment...

New on the home front, tonight I came home to find two lightbulbs out in the upstairs lamp.  I managed to find one new bulb, and proceeded to replace one of the dead ones.

That was my first mistake.

The lightbulb immediately blew, and when I tried to take it back out, the majority of the glass came off in my hand.  My friends who were present advised me to cut the circuit before using pliers to remove the remaining half-bulb.  Unfortunately, the circuit box is in another flat.  So I had to call the landlord.

The landlord, drunk and disbelieving, insisted on coming upstairs and seeing for himself.  He had me turn the light on and off.  He then said, "There's no way there's any electricity running through that."  Quality logic, that.  And then, refusing any advice, including my proffered oven mitt, he stuck his bare hand up to the remaining half-bulb.

As we all sat there in shock, the landlord fidgeted with the glass until a small crunch was heard and the landlord said calmly, "Oh.  Blood."  Several small pieces of glass fell to the floor.

aAAAaah.

He then (continuing to fidget) proclaimed, "Oh, there's your problem; it's in too tight."  No.  No it's not.

After I disposed of what glass he had gotten out, I then asked him again to go break the circuit so I could use pliers like I was planning to in the first place.  Ignoring me, he immediately stuck his hand back in the bulb case.  I offered the mitt again, only to be told, "There's no electricity there."  I said, "No, for the glass..." having given up on him knowing how electricity works.  His reply, "Oh, I don't mind the blood."  We do, landlord, we do.

After several moments of all of us just waiting for him to slash open something important or electrocute himself, he did actually manage to get the bulb out.  Thanking him, I tried to get him out of the house at that point, but he insisted on finding two new bulbs for us.  I told him to call me if he found bulbs, but please not to worry about it and I'd take care of it in the morning.

Ten minutes later, he called back, saying he found bulbs.  He then had the gall to explain to me how to safely insert new bulbs.

Augh.

Just...augh.

Street Fighters

Recently I was walking to a subway station in a very public, well lit, heavily populated area, when I spotted two men apparently fighting each other, very poorly. They would have each other at arm's length, almost in a stranglehold, and then sort of halfheartedly punch at each other, almost like a catfight. People were passing them by, barely giving them a glance.

I stopped, not wanting to succumb to bystander apathy, and seriously pondered calling the police. I mean, wtf, mates? But I couldn't decide just from what little I observed whether they were actually fighting, just poorly, or play-fighting, and I have so been there. I wouldn't want to get the cops called on me every time I mock-spar with a friend.

So I watched for a moment, trying to decide. They stopped for a second, and spoke to each other in calm tones in a language I didn't recognize, probably something subcontinental. They let each other catch his breath, then started again. I decided that if it WERE an actual fight, either no one would be injured and it would be fine, or it would escalate and someone else would have to handle it, because I was going home.

A little perturbed, I made my way past the fight and towards the subway when I heard a woman shriek on the other side of the street. I turned, my adrenaline pumping, only to realize that she was drunk off her behind and only hiding from her friend, who had poked her.

What on earth is with these people?