We hadn’t had the new microwave that long when, all of a sudden, it decided it just didn’t want to microwave anymore.
“You had one job,” I said to the microwave, chastising it after it failed to reheat some leftovers. “Is that really so hard?”
Naturally, I had no idea what went into making a microwave microwave. I assumed it probably had something to do with the sun, since it used microwaves, and maybe also radio waves or ultraviolet rays, and therefore there was surely a solar panel installed somewhere, that made it work, as well as a transistor radio and sunscreen. Since I had no experience with microwaves or radio waves or UV waves (except that one time when I was seven and I got a really bad sunburn), I thought this was all well out of my limited range of appliance repair knowledge and decided to call in a professional.
I looked online for a repairman in my area and chose Mike’s Microwave repair because it had a number of good reviews and also, Mike and Microwave both begin with an M and I like alliteration. I had to wait two weeks for Mike to show up because apparently, there was a sudden epidemic of microwave deaths at the same time that mine pooped out. It was like some kind of microwave flu that must have been transmitted over the airwaves, or maybe the radio waves, I couldn’t be certain.
By the time Mike finally arrived I was beside myself. I was a child of the microwave generation and never realized that food could also be reheated in an actual oven, so for two weeks I ate cold leftovers and brooded about how difficult life was without a microwave.
“I think it might be the fuse,” said Mike when he finally arrived and did triage on my microwave. “It should be an easy fix, but there’s a chance I might have to do open oven surgery. I need you to sign a release.”
“A release?” I said. “For what?”
“Acknowledging that the appliance was not functioning when I arrived and nothing I did caused it to further malfunction.”
“Fine,” I said and signed the form. “But before you do anything, you should try pointing the satellite dish in a different direction to see if that solves the problem, because not only is the microwave broken, but also, our TV isn’t getting very good reception.”
He looked at me like I was one burner short of stovetop. “They have nothing to do with each other.”
“What?” I said.
“Your microwave and your TV,” he said. “Completely unrelated.”
“Got it,” I said. “But could you check the TV when you’re done with the microwave, anyway?”
“I only do kitchen appliances,” he said.
“But the TV is in the kitchen,” I replied. Then I recalled that the ad said, Mike’s Microwaves, and not Mike’s Microwaves and TVs, so I decided to let it go.
I watched the one TV channel that worked well while Mike did surgery on the microwave. But when I decided to switch channels, all of a sudden, at the exact same time, the microwave whirred to life.
“Hah!” I yelled. “I fixed the microwave!”
“No, you didn’t,” said Mike. “I did. I put in a new fuse.”
“I’m not so sure, Mike.” I said assuredly. “I was on CNN and when I switched to HGTV, the microwave started to work again.”
“I told you, they’re not related,” he argued.
I shrugged. “If you want to believe that, that’s fine,” I said. “I don’t want to make waves.”
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