Confession: I sometimes, well, okay, often. Yikes! Okay, okay, mostly always pull plugs out of sockets by the cords. I do not like getting my fingers too close to those scary dark slashes of unknown electrical power.
My vacuum, my favorite most favorite home appliance, now sports a major industrial plug installed there by the husband who sometimes wonders out loud why the last plug he put on didn't last as long as it should have. While this piece of home wiring is ongoing I have quietly slid out of the room, dashing down to the laundry room so I do not have to answer to that implied accusation of bad plug handling.
I do recall that unit of 8th grade honors science called simply "Electricity" where us overachieving Riverdale & Dolton students - soon to be glumped into the Honors track at Thornton High School, just another segregated high school in suburban Chicago in the 1970's - were expected to independently construct various electrical gadgets and test them and throw off sparks and strip wires and use batteries and the other assorted items in our labeled toolboxes. I despised this unit, though we all loved the frumpy Mr. Kriz and tried not to give him a headache before lunch.
I hated this unit b/c by the time these "kits" hit our grade level, there was nothing left in them (weren't they in wood boxes?) that still worked, or else all the needed supplies/pieces were all gone. Frustrating.
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