The Feeble Fan

Within this 100+ year old house, there resides a 100+ year old fan. It has claimed my bedroom as its resting spot. Though partially functional, it holds its ceiling. This tri-speed fan moans and groans with each pull of the string. It takes a good yank and some consoling to perform its other task of not only lighting the room, but propelling the fan blades.


Today I wanted to turn the fan from medium to off. Two good yanks should do the trick, as always. Though today was not like any other day. Today was to be remembered.

With the first pull to send it into low speed came this horrific sound. It was as if the feeble fan was talking to me saying, "You decide to mess with me now? After all this whole week of medium speed? Pull it again and see what happens!"

Me, not speaking feeble fan language, shrugged and pulled it again. At this point the fan lets out a, "No, you didn't!!" and proceeds to let its light fixture fall from its body. At this point I jump/dive out of the way (keeping in mind to protect my broke as a joke collar bone) in sheer terror.

As I roll over to survey the damage, I notice that the lights only dropped 4 inches from the fan and were hanging by their electrical cords. The feeble fan had made a permanent statement.

I no longer will touch that disgruntled, feeble fan. I don't even like to look at it anymore. We are not on speaking terms, nor have we ever been. It continues to stand its ceiling in its resting spot in my room.