I was home sick the other day with a migraine, when I emerged from under my cold cap and darkened room to scavenge for something to eat. Not interested in any type of cooking, I found a slightly freezer-burned box of mini quiches behind the ice trays. I sighed. It would have to do. Thank goodness they at least had bacon in them.
While the oven preheated, I checked the mail. Lately, checking the mail consists of me peeking inside, leaving it all for two or three days, then gathering it up in a large bundle and carrying it straight to the recycle bin. Because of the migraine, this was a day when I lifted the lid to my mailbox, peered in to see shiny postcards emblazoned with 800 numbers, then gently shut the lid. I’d come back tomorrow.
I opened the oven to place the sad mini quiches on the middle rack, but suddenly — sparks flew out of the oven! I shut the door and stepped back. Carefully, I crept forward and opened the oven door to take a second look. A burst of hot confetti sprayed out, landing dangerously close to my bare feet.
It can be revealing, the way one reacts in an emergency. I am not proud to say that my first instinct was to grab my phone and hit “record.” My friends weren’t going to believe this! I was already formulating the caption for the 16-second video: “My oven decided to celebrate Independence Day early,” I would write, garnering lots of “likes” and comments from friends and family far and near.
But no. There was a fire in my kitchen! It was contained, but still! The adrenaline finally kicked in and I sprang into action. Migraine be damned, I pulled the stove away from the wall with sudden Herculean strength and unplugged it.
The oven went dark and I leaned against the counter, fully taking in what had just happened. For some reason I immediately thought of my Aunt Marge, God rest her soul, who had carpeting installed in her kitchen when I was around 8 years old. Even I, who was visiting her at the time, recognized that kitchen carpeting was an extremely ill-conceived notion, not much better than having carpet in the bathroom, which she also had. The 80s were a strange time. But I digress.
After texting my husband the harrowing video of the oven, we swiftly ordered a new one. The thrill I felt at the thought of a new oven being delivered was all the confirmation I needed: I am in dire need of more excitement in my life. Similarly, my friends and co-workers are also leading dull lives, unless they were just acting thrilled in order to be supportive. We all squealed in delight at the thought of an induction cooktop stainless steel oven. Clearly, we must get out more.
While ovenless, we lived a life of celebrities, or at least my very limited understanding of celebrity: eating al fresco at local eateries, serenaded by the sound of clinking glasses and dinner plates all around us. If I wasn’t careful, I’d begin to prefer cloth napkins over paper, and I’d demand a separate fork for my salad and my main course. Someone would have to not only clear my plate from the table but wash up afterwards, too. Just like I imagine Scarlett Johansson lives.
Finally, it arrived. My new oven doesn’t throw sparks, but it does have a light that actually works, a definite step up. All the settings are digital. Weirdly, it also connects to Bluetooth. I found this out when I was heating up the oven and I received a text from my husband, who was at work. It read, “I just got a notification that the oven is preheated.” Technology can be both amazing and stalker-ish.
While I admire the way my old oven made a dramatic exit, I hope the rest of my appliances go out with a whimper rather than a burst of light and fanfare. It just won’t do, having water heaters exploding or wash machines flooding or, heaven forbid, air conditioning rattling. But since I have a tendency to personify inanimate objects, it makes me realize how we rely on our crew of systems to facilitate our daily life: we assume that our car will start in the morning, that the milk in the fridge will stay cold, and water will come out of the showerhead without scalding us. It’s only when these systems break down that we truly appreciate them. As I cook dinner tonight, I will whisper that there’s no need to burst into flame to get my attention, no ma’am! I will pat on her little electromagnetic head and promise to never take her for granted.
