Explosions and Smoke and Fire, Oh My

Putting machines in my two car garage that were designed for large industrial shops just warms the cockles of my heart. There’s nothing like having ten times the power and capacity you really need.

So a year ago I convinced Robin that I just had to have a larger compressor for my woodworking endeavors. The little Porter Cable pancake compressor we had was better suited to use as an aquarium pump. It could drive a brad nailer but trying to run an orbital sander on it was like trying to sell hamburgers in a steak storm.

After I threw a fit on the floor of the Lewisville Northern Tools store she finally relented and we hauled home a massive 80 gallon compressor.

Anxious to move the beast into the garage and get it hooked up, I made the ritual run to Home Depot and bought various supplies I figured I’d need: wire, conduit, outlet boxes, etc.

I skimmed through the compressor manual when I got home so I could answer affirmatively in anticipation of Robin asking “did you read the instructions?”

I vaguely remember seeing the phrase “hire a qualified electrician” somewhere in there…vaguely.

I’m not an electrician. You’ll come to believe that statement by the time you finish this article. If you are an electrician, you’ll laugh during this reading where others fail to see the humor. I’m happy my pain and suffering can bring a little more sunshine into the world.

I’ve wired 110 outlets before. The compressor required 220 power. Easy enough, I figured. 220 is double 110, right?

I ran four wires to my massive new pneumatic machine. Two hots, one neutral, and a ground. I found what appeared to be an obvious place for my connections via a knock-out on the box on top of the compressor motor. I punched it out, ran the Romex through the hole and pried off the box cover. I pulled the electrical tape off the ends of the wires and started to hook them up to the lobes on the little canister thingies inside the box.

Soon after that I limped over to the breaker box and switched the main off with one arm that was still responding to signals from my brain. “I’m fine!” I yelled to Robin when I heard her holler out the back door inquiring why all the electricity in the house just went off.

Returning to the compressor with a flashlight I hooked the two hot wires and ground up to the lobes on the canister in the box that obviously were intended for electrical connections. (If you are an electrician, I know you’re laughing now. Kiss my grits!).

Satisfied that I had everything securely connected, I went back to the breaker box and flipped on the main.

In the ensuing darkness, with my ears ringing from the shotgun-like BANG, I wondered at how a manufacturer could deliver such an inferior and explosive product. After a massive coughing fit and blowing the smoke out of the garage, I inspected the damage. The canister I had attached the loads to had burst and a slimy oil had run down the side of the compressor. A trickle of bizarre smoke was spilling out of the box and drifting along the floor like some demonic vaporous snake. I went to my computer to research electrical motors on the internet.

I soon discovered that the canister thingie was a capacitor. Capacitors store large amounts of energy to startup electrical motors in heavy-duty applications. Fearing that this was going to be expensive, I called Northern Tools and told them the capacitor on my motor had blown up due to some apparent defect. Yes, it was a lie, but I thought I was telling the truth at the time. The guy told me that capacitors were pretty inexpensive and I could just buy one from an electrical supply for a few bucks.

I checked around and found one locally for seven dollars. The next day I picked it up and started round two as soon as I got home after convincing Robin I really did know what I was doing and no, we didn’t need an electrician to wire this thing up.

I put the new capacitor in and wired it up exactly as I’d done before. This time I’d identified the exact breaker feeding the lines to the compressor and shut it off instead of the main. This made it very easy to conceal my activities from Robin, since she wouldn’t be notified via the lights going off in the house. I flipped the breaker for the compressor back on and all the lights went off in the house, along with another spectacular BANG and a flash of garage contained lightning. That same eerie smoke trickled lazily out of the box and pooled up on the garage floor.

Robin appeared in the garage, materializing out of the smoke like one of the horsemen of the apocalypse. Once again she expressed in vivid detail what she was going to do to me if I didn’t stop screwing around with the thing and hire an electrician. I told her I would, first thing in the morning.

The next day I called Northern Tools again and fessed up. The guy conferenced me in with his electrical tech so they could both laugh at me at the same time. After hearing the story the electrician told me I should have wired the electricity into the on/off switch instead of the startup capacitor and that I’d probably blown the centrifugal switch on the motor. He was really nice and finally agreed to send me a whole new motor at half price provided I promised to have it installed by a real electrician. A week later the new motor arrived and I installed it myself without the help of an electrician. I wore my hearing protectors and safety glasses this time when I flipped the breaker. The compressor has been running just fine ever since.

All in all, I figure I broke even. An electrician would’ve cost me at least as much as the 50 percent-off motor, and I wouldn’t have learned that capacitors make really incredible explosions and lightning flashes.