We don’t cook on commission

microwaveoven_patent_popcorn

Back by popular demand, it’s the Microwave Hour!

After last month’s thermonuclear meltdown, I subconsciously harbored some sort of insane idea that I could skate by without a microwave oven.

Complicating this search is the fact that I’m the world’s worst shopper. I must review and research until I’m basically disgusted with all of my options. This applies to peanut butter as well as a new computer. Frozen edamame. Leftover quinoa. Pretension requires 10 COOKING POWER LEVELS and SCRATCH RESISTANT GLASS DOOR. Don’t let your artisanal brain tell you otherwise! Reheating and defrosting without this essential item is a waste of your very life.

And still things die. Chance failure can’t be investigated away.

So I’m winging between Best Buy and Lowe’s, calling my dad for Consumer Report reviews while searching on Amazon’s hive mind. No microwave is perfect (the philosopher said so) but I hadn’t prepared myself for some of the Amazon reviews.

People really, really hate their microwaves.

The most annoying thing about this stupid Emerson is the beeper. The beeps from this Emerson are the loudest beeps I have ever heard from a microwave. I feel like I’m going deaf from it. We have to stop it before it starts beeping or run out of the room. You can’t do anything while it’s beeping. You have to wait until it’s finished its full 5 or 6 beeps. I have to run away from the damned thing it’s so loud and annoying.

Finally, I realize that I’ve wasted almost two hours of my life on the search and settle for a mediocre model that one reviewer deems “Horrible Odor – DON’T BUY THIS UNIT.”

That’s when things get weird.

Best Buy in recent times has decided to relieve their associates of hustling for commission, replacing that rather natural expectation with something so much worse – constant checking and creepy friendship.

“Just letting you know that we don’t work on commission” turns into the following real conversation:

Jeff from Best Buy: “Hello there! How are you feeling this fine evening?

Me: “Oh, fine.”

Jeff: “Ah! I’m so glad. Did you just get off work?”

Me: “Umm… not exactly?”

Jeff: “It’s been a while, hmm? I just thought that with your [points at my necktie and hat]…”

Me: [silence]

Jeff: “Are you looking to replace your microwave or buying a new one for a new place?”

Adam: “Replacement.”

Jeff: “So, what do you like to do with your microwave?”

Let me break in here for a minute. I wasn’t able to in this scenario, but it would have been nice.

Adam: “Well… cook things.”

Jeff: “Ah, some people use microwaves for defrosting and others use them for reheating.”

Adam: [silence]

Jeff: “Okay, well just let me know if you need assistance. And remember – we don’t work on commission!”

This conversation actually went on a bit longer, but I blacked out somewhere in the middle and when I woke up, I WANTED TO BUY A MICROWAVE SO BADLY.

Like clockwork

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Few things in life have such remarkable consistency, but a cargo airplane is one of them.

The roar usually begins at 11:04 p.m. Other times, 11:07 p.m. Rough weather might slip it back to 11:10 p.m. There must be some amount of finger-drumming and toe-tapping.

This UPS flight always heads the same direction – straight away from my apartment windows, out across the water of the Illinois River and into the night.

I know that it’s an Airbus A300 and I know that it goes from Rockford -> Peoria -> Louisville. I do not know if the pilot and co-pilot are fun folks, with loose neckties and wild keychains.

Maybe there’s music playing once they reach a cruising altitude.

Maybe it’s terrifically boring.

Maybe I’m the only one who notices.