The microwave finally died of old age and rust. The final moment was when the plate would no longer rotate and a microwave container melted. For a few weeks we used a tiny microwave that had been stored in the shed since Daughter1 married a man with a superior microwave.
So off to the city on Saturday afternoon in search of a replacement. I had several criteria; Mr FD had one – he wanted it to go ding.
At the store, we zeroed in on our price range, and the exterior finish we wanted, matte silver, to match other large appliances such as the fridge, and then went for the finer details. My way of dealing with this was to look at the buttons or knobs and see if they met my likes or dislikes, then to open the microwave, locate the manual and read the features.
Mr FD’s contribution was to annouce in a loud voice, “I want one that goes ding!” He was distracted for a second or two by a microwave that was bright red and shiny, but he soon returned to “I want one that goes ding!”.
I ignored him, as I went about eliminating, and proving the worth of the favourite, while Mr FD asked for service assistance. One sales assistant told him that she couldn’t help, even though she was doing nothing as “I am in charge of kitchens overall.” Obviously microwaves are no longer a part of kitchens? I seem to have missed a trend. Another service assistance, who was leaning against the service end of the microwave section also declined to help us as “I am assisting someone else at the moment.” The nearest people were in the vacuum cleaner section some four metres away. He did call someone who he promised would be able to assist us.
The said assistant was welcomed by Mr FD’s welcome of “I want one that goes ding!” The look on the man’s face clearly said that he thought he had a live ding- a -ling alright. Microwaves all ding at the end of the cycle so he didn’t appear to know where to go with it.
I explained that Mr FD has fallen into the habit of microwaving food and then become so task focussed (forgetful) that he does not retrieve the food. Hours later someone will find it at room temperature inside the microwave. He is obviously really suffering hunger!
“What we want is a microwave with an alarm.”
Oh he knew all about alarms, his own microwave had one. His microwave was not amongst the store’s stock though. Mr FD just kept blubbering “I want one that goes ding” as though his last hopes were evaporating. However, I had already ascertained that my appliance of choice had an alarm that “dinged” after one minute, two minutes and then three minutes if the food was not retrieved.
Yes, dear reader, we got one that dinged, which the ding-a-ling proudly bore home.