How to Use Lubricant Inappropriately

My wife couldn't believe it. Or that I would even think to do something like it.

My old DVD player in the bedroom had been misbehaving for a week. Randomly, the movie stopped, usually at the height of a crucial scene, freezing on a close-up of an actor with her eyes drooping and lips extended as if she were experiencing difficulty in saying the letter J. The movie remained frozen somewhere between 10 minutes and a month, then jumped to the ending credits. The player also skipped scenes without warning. I didn't always notice, because, let's face it, many of the movies I watch will never win the Oscar for Best Film. In fact, they probably won't win for Best Script, Editing, Acting, Sound, Use of the Dramatic Pause, or even Best Speed with Which It Went Straight to Video. So, an occasional skipped scene rarely interrupted the semblance of plot continuity.

Yesterday, I was watching a rented flick about either zombies, or Kung Fu fighters, or maybe Kung Fu zombies. I can't remember which. Anyway, just as the movie started, the DVD player went vrrrrrr-ROOOOOMMMMMM!

I didn't expect a DVD player to make that kind of noise. A Ferrari maybe but not a DVD player.

Then it made a different noise a little louder. Space Shuttle loud. A Space Shuttle equipped with glass packs.

So, I thought, "You're a computer guy, right? A DVD player has computer-like parts in it, right? You can fix this."

I assumed it probably needed cleaned, especially since I don't remember cleaning it anytime after "the Information Super Highway" was still a neato-burrito phrase.

I grabbed my toolbox and a can of air. As I returned to the bedroom and passed my wife, she laid her novel in her lap and gave me one of those looks that is full of suspicion and "when was the last time you took out the garbage?" I'm pretty sure she saw me fiddling with the DVD player (and I know she heard the stream of profanity when the movie paused), so as I often do, I took advantage of the situation for my own nefarious pleasure.

I said, "I'm going to build a time machine," and jangled my toolbox off to the bedroom, without another word.

She went back to her novel. After living with me for this long, it would not have shocked her whether or not I was serious. "Just remember that there are still electronics in that room that were working before you touched them."

"Yes, dear."

Back in the bedroom, I removed the case from the DVD player. It was absolutely spotless inside. The circuit boards were an annoying shade of vibrant green. No dust bunnies huddled in fear around any of the vents. It was all quite distressing.

I shot some air at it just to make myself feel better, and -- of course -- a wire popped off. It looked important, too. And it didn't just unplug. It actually fell off the plastic thingy that plugged it into the circuit board. I stuck it back into the plastic thingy and it seemed to stay.

But, without something to fix or at least intimidate with my can of air, I was heartbroken. Then, I noticed some abrasions on part of the DVD carriage. That meant something was rubbing it and maybe vibrating or even VROOM-ing! It needed -- oh yes! -- lubricant. In fact, there were shafts that seemed to have things sliding along them and gears with interlocking teeth! I needed some sort of grease.

Except, I didn't have any grease. I didn't have even anything slippery. No marine grease, no 3-in-1 oil, no WD-40. Nothing. I needed a substitute.

I padded back up the hallway. I had a plan. I sneaked past my wife and into the kitchen.

Just as the cabinet door over the stove snicked! open, my wife said, "You don't need cooking oil to build a time machine."

I quickly shut the door. How does she know these things?

Again, down the hall I went, like my son when he is caught "just looking at the candy." I went into the bathroom, feeling nauseous over the whole matter, and stared pitifully at my reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. Mumbling something about "a stupid time machine," I opened the medicine cabinet door for some Tums . . . and there it was. The solution sat on the shelf. In my memory, Heavenly Hosts began singing and golden light streamed in through the window. I doubt however it happened exactly that way since it was 10:30 at night. I picked up the toothpaste-shaped tube that did not contain toothpaste. As I read the ingredients, my eyebrows began to raise. One of the main ingredients was grease.

A few minutes later, I had the DVD player put back together. I was happy. Because in all likelihood I now own the only DVD player whose VROOM! was fixed with a tube of anti-itch cream.