I’ve
been going crazy lately buying lightbulbs for my house. The problem
is, I keep getting the wrong ones. I actually know what I need.
I just can’t seem to find them, and it feels like all of the stores
are working against me.
When
I was a kid, to my memories, lightbulbs were an easy thing to
deal with. Basically, there were only three kinds.
Style
number one: For lamps and light fixtures
Style
number two: Smaller but similar screw-in bases, used in nightlights
Style
number three: The little bulbs on strands of Christmas lights
that pull out of the small sockets
Now
that list isn’t really complete, and we all know that. We could
get into tubes and fluorescents and add some other styles that
existed. And Christmas lights actually fall into the second category
as well. But it covers enough ground that it is accurate.
The
truly funny thing about these three styles was that only the first
two really mattered, and the purchases were a snap. If you were
replacing bulbs in a lamp, you needed to get the bigger base.
A nightlight meant the smaller ones. But they effectively were
all universal fits.
A
few years ago, Terry and I needed to get some bulbs for the house.
I went out and had to go through the awful process of trying to
understand the difference between things like soft white and daylight
styles.
The
bulbs we purchased were to replace a burned-out bulb in a four-bulb
light fixture. Because, of course, the styles were slightly different.
Replacing just one bulb with one that looked different wouldn’t
work. So, I replaced all four bulbs.
Later
in the day, dark outside, I walked toward the kitchen and flipped
the switch. The result was that an absolutely hideous room came
into view. It was hazy. The light was an awful blue that felt
like it could be cut with a knife.
Back
to the store, lesson learned. Daylight glow lightbulbs are nothing
like any lighting in the natural world.
The
other day I needed to pick up some lights because I had used the
last of the general purpose 60w bulbs. I went out, came home,
and it sure seemed like I had the wrong ones. (And here begins
the rant.)
Medium
and A15 and A19 and…
…and…
…and,
look, there are problems. Lots of problems. They begin with the
idea that it sure feels like no two stores carry the same brands,
meaning you can’t bring the old box with you and guarantee you’re
going to find what you set out to buy.
As
I dug through the cabinet where we store our spare bulbs, and
then moved on to wandering along an aisle of lighting options,
I wanted to scream.
There
are bulbs with no designation at all on their packaging as to
the size of the bulb’s base. None. They say they’re made for bathrooms,
or ceiling fans, or chandeliers. But I knew that many didn’t match
any of the bulbs around the mirrors in my bathroom. Most ceiling
fan identified packages didn’t have bulbs that fit into any of
my ceiling fans.
Does
it matter that I went to four different stores in the end? Nope.
It does not. I might as well be trying to compare the pricing
of mattresses or washing machines or tiddlywinks for all the inconsistencies
of names, size designations and more.
Basically,
it stinks.
It’s
not that I’m mad about there being lightbulbs with different base
sizes. It’s frustrating at times, but I’m not mad about that.
Different lights for different things. Some people like frosted
bulbs and others prefer clear. Some lights are needed for little
jobs, and others have other purposes. (And, I guess, there are
people that enjoy spending their nights in a blue tinted level
of hell.)
What
makes me mad is the lack of appreciation for the little guy. They
make things, design the packages for them, and arrive at a collective
“that’s perfect, that’s what we want on the shelf” item. But when
the buyer heads into the store, it turns out that the package
answers none of the questions that immediately come to mind. The
universality of the fit is gone, and from experience I know that
no sales associate will have an answer. Short of disconnecting
the lighting fixture and bringing it with me, there is no rhyme
or reason.
I
don’t remember where I bought these bulbs ten years ago. As I
set out, I had no clue who carries this manufacturer’s product
so that I had a hope of getting it right and finding a match with
ase.
As
I head back out to the store again, planning to make yet another
return before trying yet another store, I wonder if it’s some
hideous plan. Do the companies want to provide a product we can
use and enjoy? Because right now, I feel that since the lights
in my house are going to be off, they know they can laugh and
I won’t be able to find a way to complain.