So today, with goggles and gloves and no little trepidation, I undertook filling up the new motorscooter battery.
I was interested to learn they ship with their very own bottle of acid and I didn't spill more than few drops. Nearly panicked when, with about half the bottle poured in, it did not appear to be filling up, but it just takes awhile. Nonplussed that there's maybe a third of a cup left over, along with instructions to take it to the local hazmat disposal center.
But I got it done. And after letting it sit and settle for over an hour, it was charging time, which the good ol' trickle/float charger did, humming along tickety-boo.
Yeah. Tickety-freaking-boo. Tam and I were heading out to Big Giant Home Improvement (it's 25' ladder day! Hooray!) and, noticing the charger had flipped over from "charge" "storage," I shut it down, disconnected the leads and used my explod-o-meter (cheap small analog VOM that one doesn't mind if it gets exploded) to check. 13V, spot-on for a tiny meter. Knelt down for a closer look at the electrolyte level and OW!
There was a sudden, stabbing pain in the meat of my left shin at the outside front, next to the bone. One of the kawaii little test probes had come to rest pointy end up when I set the VOM down and I managed to come in for a landing on it with my shin -- stabby, stabby!
Poked in right through my jeans. As soon as I figure out what it was (kinda easy, what with a test probe stuck in my leg and all), I yanked it out and took a look at the damage: just a puncture and a muscle ache.
So we went to Big Home Improvement and I limped around 'til it felt a bit better. Tam kept giggling, though: "You're like a robot that only functions to unplug itself!" Yeah, sometimes.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago