I picked up a replacement timer for my refrigerator today. Of course it couldn't be a simple swap with an identical timer; these days there's one timer replacement that you wire differently depending on what kind of timer you're replacing and what kind of cycle your fridge is on. The lady at the counter said, "this comes with instructions, so make sure they read them when they're installing it." I assured her that "they" would. At home, I opened the booklet: "blah blah blah COMPRESSOR blah blah REPLACEMENT TIMER blah blah WARNING blah blah blah PERMANENT DAMAGE TO THE UNIT..." I gave up on the text and just read the schematics, connected the wires, reseated everything, plugged the fridge in, and turned the timer dial until it clicked. The compressor came on immediately. Yay.
I returned from band practice to an appropriately chilly fridge and to a bunch of notes from my dad, who had come by to check out my handiwork and to shove the fridge back into its crevice. He also vaccuumed. My dad is the best.
I feel a little silly that a working fridge is such a relief, but there it is.