Brilliant … But Bouncy

I Don’t Want Bill to Do Anything!

One day I plunked some popcorn into the microwave and pushed the start button – but nothing happened.

The microwave had been acting up for awhile – stopping midway through heating, for example. So I texted Bill, and asked if I should buy another one.

“Okay,” he said. Bill was visiting the tax guy and he had just had a root canal, so he didn’t much care about appliances right then.

I got online and started researching. Based almost exclusively on reviews, I finally settled on a model that was much like our old one, but with new buttons.

It was in stock at a nearby store, so I ordered it, then waited for the necessary email:

Your item is ready for pick-up!

I wanted to do what I could to make Bill’s day easier. Normally I let him do everything: cooking, cleaning, fixing stuff. And when it comes to appliances – well, I am a dunce.

But for this one day, I didn’t want Bill to lift a finger.

“He has to deal with taxes and he had a root canal today,” I told Shane, begging him to go to the store with me and help me lift the thing.

Forty-five minutes later, Shane and I were in line behind a woman who, oddly, was picking up four ceiling fans.

When it was our turn, we had to measure the bottom of the microwave to be sure it would fit in its designated kitchen space. Otherwise, it would fall off its shelf. We opened up the box, took out the microwave, turned it over and checked to be sure that, of the 19.75 inches of advertised depth, all four “feet” of the microwave fit into 16 inches or less.

Conveniently, the “feet” section measured exactly 16 inches. So Shane and I put the microwave back in the box, hauled it outside, loaded it into the car, took it home, caught fireflies for a few minutes, and then lugged the box inside. We unveiled the microwave again, plugged it in, pushed it into its new home and inserted the rotating tray.

“Let’s try it out!” I said, putting in a mug filled halfway with water. “We’ll boil some water!”

“With a microwave?” Shane said.

“Sure!”

“It doesn’t look like it’s on,” Shane said.

Sure enough, the microwave was pitch black – no clocks, no lights, no timer.

Bill was going to be home any minute. I frantically read the instructions while Shane looked all over the new microwave for a power switch. I checked the internet to see if there was a hidden power switch.

Nothing.

“Now we have to ask Dad,” Shane said.

“NO,” I said. “I don’t want Bill to do anything!”

But obviously we had a defunct microwave. So we put it all back in the box.

Again.

“Get the tray!” I shrieked at Shane, who grabbed the rotating plate just before the microwave fell into the box.

Then I called the store to see if they would deliver a new one to me, since I had already driven 45 minutes to pick up the first one. I was still pleading with the manager when Bill walked in, and Shane explained what was going on.

Without a word, Bill got a lamp and tested the electrical outlets. He checked the circuit breaker downstairs. Then he tested the lamp again.

Bill then unboxed and set up the new microwave. It suddenly worked just fine – except that it was dripping water.

Bill opened the microwave door and there, unscathed except for a lost tablespoon of water, sat my mug, waiting for a chance to boil.