Our Story Begins
In the 1980s, my family lived in Germany, where in-home electricity operates at 230V with a frequency of 50Hz—quite different from the 120V and 240V at 60Hz in the US. This difference explains why bringing US electronics to Germany often requires a transformer to safely adapt to the differing standards. At the time, we only had two transformers in the apartment—one in the bathroom and another in the living room. I found myself in my bedroom, wanting to vacuum, and I needed either a transformer… or a creative workaround.
The Research
During this time in my childhood, I was incredibly observant—very little escaped my notice. I realized that all I needed was a way to connect the vacuum cleaner’s plug to the oddly round, smiley-face-shaped wall socket in my room. I can still vividly recall the wheels turning in my head as I pondered the solution. What do we have that fits those two round holes or the thin straight slots? Then it hit me: the vacuum cleaner’s power cord was removable, and it just so happened to be the same type of cord my mother’s radio used. That radio cord had the smiley-face plug I needed to complete the circuit. Problem solved! … Or was it?
The Smoke
So, the plan was simple: head to my mom’s room, grab the radio cord, and get back to vacuuming so I could enjoy the rest of my Saturday. Casual as ever, I walked right past my mom, who was mopping the hallway separating our rooms, and slipped into her room. Snagging the radio cord, I strolled back to my room like it was no big deal—easy as pie.
What happened next was far from what I expected.
Back in my room, I struggled to connect the radio cord to the vacuum. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but I was determined to make it work with a little persuasion. Finally, with the cord wedged in place, I plugged the other end into the wall socket. As I flipped the vacuum on, a wave of pride hit me. I’m the man, I thought. Spoiler alert: I was not.
The vacuum roared to life with a sound like a turbocharged jet engine, its suction power seemingly multiplied by 30. For a moment, I was torn between turning it off and running to brag to my mom about my genius discovery. I mean, I’d just revolutionized cleaning—cutting vacuum time in half!
Before I could utter a single coherent word, it happened.
The vacuum stopped abruptly. The lights in the apartment went out. A faint orange glow appeared in the vents on the side of the vacuum—the only light in the room now. Smoke began pouring out, quickly engulfing my room and spilling into the rest of the house.
Panic set in as I stared at the smoldering vacuum, the smell of burning plastic filling the air. What. Had. I. Done?
Mom The Hero
My mother, who loved me deeply and always encouraged my curiosity—but not with her vacuum cleaner—came running into my smoke-filled room. She didn’t know what had happened; all she knew was that the room was full of smoke and I might be in danger. Without hesitation, she grabbed me and rushed out of the apartment, saving me from the consequences of my own curiosity.
What happened next is a bit fuzzy in my memory. Friendly neighbors or maintenance workers arrived to help figure out what went wrong, get the lights back on, and clear the smoke from the apartment. The smell of burnt plastic lingered, but at least the immediate crisis was over.
When the chaos finally settled and the apartment was cleaned, my mother discovered the source of the commotion: me, her curious child, and her now-ruined vacuum cleaner. Needless to say, she lost her composure. I was promptly grounded—not just from the vacuum, but from plugging anything into any wall in the house.
The End
Lesson learned: curiosity might lead to discovery, but it can also lead to a whole lot of smoke and a very upset mom. – David Goodwin