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After giving our living room a fresh coat of paint, I decided to try my hand at refinishing the hardwood floors. So I rented a floor sander, an 80-lb. beast of a machine with a large rotating drum that sands the floor while you walk behind. I loaded a coarse-grit sandpaper, as recommended, and plugged in the machine. After sanding a few feet, the machine stopped. I noticed that the heavy plug had partially slipped out, so I walked over and wiggled it back in the outlet.
I quickly discovered that the sander’s switch was still on. The thing started up and shot across the room like the rabbit at a dog race, with me chasing it. It crashed through the wall I had just painted, leaving a hole about the size of . . . well, a floor sander. Even worse, my wife and daughter had been watching. They quietly left the room. I also left the room . . . to get my drywall tools.
