Mission: Eneloop

I am not the smartest person.  Not even close.

Sure, I can diagram a sentence like nobody else.  Yeah, there are times when I am insightful or witty or demonstrate good judgment.  Some days, even, I act like an intelligent and reasonable person. 

But yesterday was not one of those days.

Let's start at the beginning.  I have this camera.  It's complicated and somewhat fancy, but it's like seven years old and not as high-tech as others on the market.  My camera takes AA batteries, four of them at a time.  And the camera, partly because it's older and not as technologically advanced, drains batteries pretty quickly.

A few weeks ago I bought some new rechargeable batteries for the camera, the Sanyo Eneloop batteries, ones that had received rave reviews on the ol' Amazon. 

And the batteries are pretty great.  They arrived pre-charged, and they hold their charge much longer than the others that I had.  Good and good. 

Until bad.

Because on Sunday, when I went to grab the batteries from the charger, one of them fell down behind our kitchen counter.  See the charger to the left?  See how the little lip (is that what that's called?) is about 3/4" away from the wall?  Yep.  There went my battery.

And  that shit was driving me crazy!  I couldn't get my hand all the way down, and even when we got a flashlight, neither Matt nor I could see where the battery had gone.  I could have sworn that I heard it fall on the ground back behind the countertop of doom, but I couldn't see down that far.

I was pissed.  Sure, the battery itself only cost like $2, but it was part of a set, and I had just bought the set, and I had to order it online, and I wanted my battery back.  It ate away at me.

When I told Cassie about the lost battery, she suggested that I use the new vacuum's crevice attachment to retrieve the battery.  I thought this was an excellent idea.

So while Matt napped after work (he told me that he'd set his alarm for 6:00), I set out on my mission to find that stupid battery.

First I pulled out the stove, smashing my finger in the process.  I screamed and jumped around and flailed my hands about for three minutes. 

Then I pulled out the washer.  That was less exciting.  There was enough dog hair under the stove and washer to build six more Mitches, so I then set to the task of cleaning up the disgusting mess.  That took some time.

Finally, after managing to cover myself in nastiness and kitchen grease/dirt/dog hair film from beneath our appliances, I tried to find the battery.

The crevice tool was just a tiny bit too big to fit down in opening, so I had a brilliant idea.  I channeled my inner Hulk, and began to pull the counter away from the wall.  I pulled, and I pulled, and there were some cracking noises (which I interpreted as "progress"), and then I pulled some more.  I got the counter to be about two inches from the wall.  Super!

But still no battery.  (But not for lack of trying!)  I decided to give up.

I put the stove back, and the washer, and I started to wash my hands.  It was then that I heard it: dripping (like a waterfall) beneath the sink.  It appeared that in my infinite "break the house to find a $2 battery" wisdom, I had pulled some pipes apart.  Oh no.

This was at 5:15. 

After clearing out the cabinets beneath the sink and sopping up the horrendous mess with towels, I set to work on my next assignment, fixing the house before Matt woke up.

I fumbled and cussed and hurt my hand some more and fumbled and cussed some more.  I wanted to cry but I couldn't cry because I didn't have time.  I kept acting out the scene in my head, what I'd have to tell Matt, how our summer vacation funds would instead go to a plumber because of my stupid, stupid, stupid choices.

After more fumbling and more cussing and forty minutes, I had basically earned my plumber's license, and there was no more leak.  (Cue applause!)

Then I found the battery.  Under the sink.  Wish I'd looked there.