Years ago, I was working on a project with a group at university. Expensive equipment, complicated, stressful, all that wonderful stuff. So anyway, we're setting up the lighting, and one of the lights doesn't turn on. We figure the bulb must be loose. Now, these are professional lights using bulbs that operate at extremely high temperature and pressure. The slightest touch of the glass envelope with your finger, and turning on that bulb would heat the oils you deposited, fracture, and shatter like a hand grenade of molten glass. The fixture with a diffuser is completely enclosed for safety reasons. Stepping up to the task, I delicately open the fixture, reach in there with a pair of pliers (which I always carry with me), and with the needlenose tips I gently push the base of the bulb snugly into the socket. Close the fixture, plug the light back in, flip the switch, and voila! Let there be light.
At this point, one of my groupmates says, "thank the Lord!"
I just reached into a box of potential death and cut the correct wire for the sake of our project. And instead of saying "hey, thanks for fixing that," you thank someone's OC from a few thousand years ago?
"You're welcome."
She looks at me for a couple seconds and shoots back, "you are not the Lord."
I don't think she appreciated my sardonic blasphemy.
A Jesuit university, by the way.
