It was a dark and stormy night … and as I pecked away at the keyboard the desk light suddenly flickered, an ominous warning that gave me just enough time to hit the save button before the house and surrounding neighborhood became engulfed in total darkness.

Occasional blackouts go with the territory when summer storms hit lakeside. After years of experience with such occurrences, I have the coping routine down pat.

As soon as the rainy season kicks in I stock up on rechargeable flash lights, veladoras (vigil light candles in large glasses), boxes of matches and butane lighters to be placed in strategic places throughout my abode. This is a critical measure for establishing minimum illumination to avoid stumbling around in the blind.

Next to the land line phone I keep a copy of my electric bill, preferably with a pen and post-it pad close at hand. I have memorized the CFE hotline number 071, and know that a recorded message will eventually tell me, “Marque uno si en su cuadra o colonia no tiene luz” – i.e., dial one if lights are out on your block or neighborhood. I also know that when a human being picks up the call I’ll have to give my name, address and the service number printed on the utility receipt.

So I was duly prepared when the power failed last week as I was cranking out news stories for last week’s Reporter. Nonetheless, the first thing I did was let out an unprintable expletive.  With my weekly deadline looming, I stressed out about how long I’d have to wait to get back to work.

Then I drew a deep breath, grabbed a handy flashlight and dialed up CFE. After a prolonged wait on hold, a live voice came on the line. I spewed out the required information. The friendly gentleman on the other end advised me to bear with him and not hang up. “The system is very slow right now,” he explained. “Not nearly as slow as mine,” I replied with a chuckle.

He suggested we chat while abiding the technological glitch. I told him that a mighty wind was blowing up to the east, with thunder and lightning headed my way from Chapala. He said that a storm was also brewing in Guadalajara.  It was just after midnight when Mr. Nice Guy was finally able to register my data and dictate the número de reporte that I jotted down on the post-it, dated and attached to my latest light bill.

He stated sincerely that the company’s commitment was to restore service within one to four hours.  “Really? We’ll see,” I answered with a cynical guffaw.

After hanging up, I grabbed a notebook, pen and flashlight to scrawl out a hand-written draft of the article I was writing when the blackout struck. With the task completed I mused on the Mexican phrase for an electrical blackout. “Se fue la luz” (The light went away), folks say. You wonder, where the heck did it go? How and when will come back?

This time, just as promised, the power returned by 3 a.m., startling me out of deep slumber. I hunkered down under the covers, smiling as I dozed off again until dawn broke.