Film at eleven.
Who was it that decided kitchen appliances must be pretty? I buy a toaster for one reason: to toast the edible substance upon which I then place my peanut butter. I don’t need an object d’art for my countertop.
This morning, I was cleaning the kitchen and because we are planning on going back on strict atkins for a couple of weeks, I decided to tuck the toaster away in a cupboard. First, however, I needed to clean out the crumbs. Being the lazy sort that I am, this normally consists of upending it over the garbage can and shaking, but this time, more drastic measures were required.
Somehow, one of the skinny, low carb buns we use had crept way down to the bottom and lodged sideways under the elements. Obviously, this was a recent escape attempt, since it was not a blackened corpse…not to mention we hadn’t burned the house down, but it was dessicated to the consistency of rock, so I couldn’t break it up with a knife either.
Extrication would have to happen from the bottom.
So…I go looking for a removable tray. And looking. Several minutes later…still looking. Now, I’m not exactly mechanically inept. I’m looking all over for buttons to push, levers to flip or twist…finally, just breaks in the plastic contraption that constitutes the bottom of this object that might indicate a removable baseplate.
Nothing. Is that even legal? I mean, talk about a fire hazard!
Finally, I find a hidden dip in the plastic, a faint fingertip sized indentation which, low and behold, facilitated the removal of a slender metal shelf, which slid out smoothly, scattering crumbs all over the floor rather than into the aforementioned garbage can…and left the dessicated corpse inside the toaster, still lodged between the elements and the perforated plastic bottom portion of this contraption, which apparently exists for no other reason than the little feet (which could easily have been on an open plastic addition), and completely ineffectual electrical cord control tabs.
Well…at least I can now get at the expletive deleted chunk of no-longer-edible substance with the most immediately available tool (I am, afterall, a card-carrying member of the tool-using species Homo sapiens) a nut-pick that was sitting on the counter, for some reason unknown, but it was there, so it got utilized. Another several minutes chopping that chunk of rock into pieces small enough to squidge out the small opening in the side, and finally, I have a clean toaster.
Now all I have to do is spend the next fifteen minutes cleaning up the mess I created cleaning the toaster.
Next time I need a peanut butter fix, I’m taking it straight out of the jar.
With a spoon.