An ode to the appliances in our humor columnist’s apartment
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Ah, the college apartment. A messy, cozy, perfect place to unwind after a long day of nodding your head at your professor while pretending to pay attention. Personally, my college apartment is my personal haven. I have a comfy bed to avoid my homework in, a TV to watch and a roommate to avoid eye contact with after I’ve been singing in the shower.
However, there are a few things in my apartment that leave me at my wit’s end: the appliances. They break, burn and bother me.
First, the radiator. Why so hot, radiator? I can’t even be near you without getting a second-degree burn on my shins. Are you upset with me? Did I say something wrong? When I turn you to the medium setting, it feels like I’ve walked into a hot yoga class I was forced to sign up for. But when I turn you too low, you leave me in the cold, shivering so intensely I have to put a sweatshirt over my outfit that I took far too long to choose the day before.
Why don’t you want me to look cute, radiator? Are you against me feeling confident and sassy? Whenever I talk to you about it, you give me the silent treatment. (I called the handyman about this, and he said because you’re a radiator, you can’t talk. I don’t believe it.)
To the oven, thank you for making me look like a moron in front of the handyman when I could not figure out how to turn you on when I first moved into the apartment. How is one supposed to know you have to turn two knobs instead of just one? All I wanted was a frozen pizza, and instead, I looked like a complete and utter fool.
Now, my fridge. Dear, dear fridge. Just let my cheese not go moldy, I’m begging. I know it’s hard to stay below 40 degrees, but I believe in you. I really do. It would also be amazing if you didn’t leak a strange liquid every now and then that I have to clean up. It’s quite concerning and always happens at the worst moments.
To my roommate’s air fryer, why must you take up half of our counter? I’m too scared to use you because you’re the size of a baby elephant’s head, and you always get in my way whenever I’m trying to do dishes. We must keep you on the counter because you can’t fit in the cupboard. Perhaps some prior research should have gone into buying you before we moved into our tiny apartment. Do you feel the need to compensate for something? You’re doing enough, I promise. Just let me wash my bowls in peace.
Finally, the smoke detector. Oh, how I detest you. At this point, I’m sure you have a personal vendetta against me. You ring and ring and ring for no apparent reason. Personally, I think you crave attention. Maybe start journaling, that’s what I do. If there was an actual fire, smoke detector, I highly doubt that you would even bother to alert us. I just don’t trust you, you round little freak.
To all of the appliances reading this, this is merely a performance review. I trust that you can and will do better in the future. If not, I may just go back to living in a dorm again.
