Continuity Test

Over the past few weeks -- while I've been busy on other projects -- my wife has been dropping hints that she'd like to see a little more progress on our house. One of her less subtle hints appeared in the mail the other day, in the form of a letter from the county building department telling me that my building permit will expire on July 30. I don't know how she did it, but somehow she has outsourced her nagging to the government.*

All it really means is that to keep my permit active, I have to get a framing inspection by July 30. I called the county and they're going to send an inspector out today to shake his head, sigh heavily to indicate that God must be punishing for something he did in a previous life, and tell me what I did wrong. He'll give me a "correction notice," and then I'll spend three days correcting some problem or other. Usually the problem is that the building inspector was teased a lot as a child.

If you think I.R.S. agents are mean, you should try getting a building inspection some time. You know what happens to someone who is too much of a jerkwad to work for the I.R.S.? He gets fired and fed to a rabid crocodile, which is then mated with that bitch from The Weakest Link, and then their unholy offspring is raised by hyenas until it's old enough to become a building inspector. That's what happens.**

My first unpleasant run-in with a building inspector occurred when I was setting up the mobile home that we were going to use as temporary lodging while we built our house. After I got the electricity hooked up, an inspector came out and asked if I had done a "continuity test." I asked him what a continuity test was.

"It's to make sure there's continuity," he said, obviously irritated to be dealing with someone of my unrivaled stupidity.

I wasn't sure how to respond. It seemed a little unfair of him to expect me to be able to ensure continuity on a 20 year old mobile home when Chris Carter couldn't even do it for more than three seasons of the X-Files, but I decided not to protest.

"Oh," I said. "And is that something I can do, or...."

"No, you can't do it. You need Special Equipment."

It was clear from his tone that he was certain that I had no special equipment. In point of fact, I once had a fortune cookie tell me that I "have an equipment for success," but I wasn't sure that was the same thing, so I let that go too.

"So is there a tool that I would need...?"

"You need Special Equipment!"

"So are you saying there's some kind of device...?"

"Special Equipment!"

"Oh, so there's some sort of..."

"Special Equipment!"

That was pretty fun for a while, but eventually I had to let him go because he had a lot of dreams to crush that day.

I called my brother-in-law, who was an electrician. He had never heard of a doing a "continuity test" on a mobile home either. He said, "Look, if the outlets and fixtures all have power, then you've got continuity."

So I called for another inspection, and Mr. Special Equipment came out again. I demonstrated that the lights and outlets worked, and then said meaningfully, "See, continuity."

Mr. Special Equipment did not appreciate my little show one bit. "That doesn't mean anything! You have to do a continuity test. You need Special Equipment!"

I tried to get more information out of him, but he went all Robby the Robot on me with his "Special Equipment! Special Equipment!"

After he left I called the building inspection office and, after being shuffled from one person to another for twenty minutes, I was finally informed that it was a matter of making sure that the grounds of all the outlets were connected to each other. They told me I could buy a continuity tester at a hardware store.

I went to my local Ace hardware store, expecting to find the continuity testers behind chain link fence with giant warning signs reading "SPECIAL EQUIPMENT." I eventually found it: the fabled continuity tester. It was a little plastic tube with a light bulb on one end and a metal prong on the other. A wire with an alligator clip on the end dangled from it. Inside were two double A batteries.

It was essentially a flashlight, except that rather than using a switch to make the light bulb go on, you connect the alligator clip to the ground of one outlet and stick the prong into the ground of another outlet. If the light bulb goes on, voila! You have continuity. I think it cost about $3. With an old tampon tube and some aluminum foil, you could make one yourself in about a minute and a half. So much for Special Equipment.

I had my brother-in-law demonstrate how to use it, just in case I was retarded. There was almost nothing to it: Connect this to the ground of one outlet. Connect that to the ground of another outlet. Light goes on. Continuity. Move to the next outlet.

And no, I know what you're thinking, but this story does not end with me electrocuting myself. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm pretty dumb, but I do know the difference between a ground and a live wire. More or less. Anyway, I didn't electrocute myself. This time.

Once I was 100% certain that the mobile home had continuity, I called for another inspection.

Mr. Special Equipment showed up again, and he was not happy to see me. I could tell he was about to launch into one of his Special Equipment tirades, so I rushed to show him my $3 magical flashlight.

"Continuity tester," I said. I proceeded to demonstrate how it worked. He stared blankly at the device, and it dawned on me that he had never seen a continuity test performed before. "See, the light goes on," I offered. "That means it has continuity."

He nodded uncertainly. The fundamental dynamics of our relationship had suddenly changed. No longer was he the construction expert barking to the naive amateur about Special Equipment. Suddenly I was the Jedi Master of the Magical Tampon Flashlight and he was the guy who was desperate to conceal the fact that he had no f---ing clue what a continuity test was. I could have clipped the alligator clip to his nose and shoved the prong up his ass and called it continuity. And I'm willing to bet good money the light would have gone on, because that guy had excellent continuity between his head and his ass.

By the time I had tested three outlets he lost interest. "So you tested the whole thing?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Ok then," he said, and signed off the inspection.

And that was that. He didn't even bother to stick around for the rest of the test. It was all just a bunch of pointless chest-thumping.

So here's the moral of the story: If anybody ever asks you if you've done a continuity test, you look him straight in the eye and say, "What am I, an idiot? Of course I've done a continuity test!"

Then you show him your Special Equipment.



*She has actually been very understanding, and hasn't nagged me at all. Not only that, but... who am I kidding, I'm sleeping on the couch tonight.
**After I wrote this, the building inspector came by. Not one of the guys who's been out before. He was pretty much the nicest guy I've ever met. He called me "friend" about six times, shook my hand, and wrote his cell phone number on the back of his business card to make sure the "lines of communication are open." He failed me, of course, but man did I feel good about it. So thanks for making me a liar, you big jerk.


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