Read Owner's Manual Before Use

I’ve recently made a life-shattering discovery. No matter how hard I try, I will never learn how to properly use a microwave.

It’s not like I haven’t tried or had the opportunity to learn…my family has had a microwave in our home since I was born. The appliance seems almost too good to be true: it’s a simple and speedy way to heat up, and in some cases fully cook, a meal. And discounting the minor fact that microwave radiation can cause cancer, who wouldn’t want to use one?

That answer would be me. Well, I guess it’s “shouldn’t” use one. I have burnt, exploded, inflamed, melted just about everything there is to perform any of these actions to in a microwave.

The most memorable would be in my high school cafeteria, during a time when I wanted to slip under the radar and fit in more than anything. Microwaves were a new purchase for our school that year, one that many students like myself were ecstatic about due to the endless supply of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches our parents had provided for us since we were able to eat solid foods.

I tossed an unpopped bag of popcorn into my brown paper bag that morning and was on my way. At about 11:30 am at the start of my lunch period, I waited patiently in the line to use the microwave, preparing myself for the snack of buttery goodness I was about to consume. I put the bag in, set the timer for 3 minutes, and proceeded to chat with a friend. We were still laughing about something that had happened earlier that day when I caught sight of smoke streaming out of the microwave about a foot away from me. Naturally, my “friend” chose to act like she didn’t know me and slip away to another lunch table. Nice. I was left alone to deal with what was happening in the microwave.

I opened the door to stop the power, but that did not stop the cloud of smoke and stench of burnt popcorn from entering the entire 200 foot cafeteria. Not only had I managed to burn my popcorn, but I had managed to start a FIRE in the microwave from the paper bag, stream smoke as I sprinted with the fireball across the cafeteria to the back door, and acquire more looks from fellow students than I was or will ever be comfortable with in my entire life.

For the rest of the day, I listened to conversations coming from students in the later lunch periods about the smell of burnt popcorn in the cafeteria. “My god the cafeteria smelled lie burnt ass today.” (It was high school, so throwing in a curse word every sentence or two was still incredibly cool, even if it didn’t make sense).

While my roommates would agree with the fact that I have neither improved my ability to pop popcorn (last night’s smoke alarm incident would vouch for that) nor increased my microwave skills in general, I realize that I am not fully to blame here. No, it runs in the family.

My sister, upon her first attempt at “softening” butter for cookie dough when she was about 13 years old placed the unwrapped stick of butter directly on the microwave bottom and hit “Time Cook” for about 2 minutes. As you can imagine, the yellow pool that was our microwave took quite a while to clean.

Even my dad has had failures in the past. On a night when he was the only one home about 7 years ago, he decided to cook himself a steak and baked potato. He put the potato in the microwave and went on out to the back deck to cook his steak. He believes now that he “accidentally pressed an extra zero” on the cook time. Instead of 3 minutes, the potato cooked for 30 minutes. In a microwave.  

What was left of the potato reminded me of the turkey in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, just a shell, with no substance on the inside. Needless to say the firemen that showed up at our house were less than amused.

The one thing I can give myself credit for is that I am a skilled chef and baker. When it comes to using a real oven and stove, I can whip up some scrumptious food. I had even considered attending culinary school at one point.

Instead….I chose college. Where my freezer is full of meals that are microwaved on a daily basis. Where I currently consume more burnt food than is healthy for any human being. I figure I’ll learn to use a microwave one day, or maybe get rid of it all together for the safety of my family and myself. After all, if this incapacity is genetic, I would never wish this on any of my children or the generations to come. 

 

The Typo

            Let me tell you about the worst typo in American history. It all started this past summer, in May 2011. I had acquired an internship in Atlanta with a marketing agency; I gained a lot of insight to the advertising industry that summer. More importantly, though, it taught me to always proofread emails before I press send.

            You’d think by now I would’ve learned to do this. Not to brag or anything, but I’m an upstanding member of the Penn State Dean’s List. However, it seems even that could not stop me from making this mistake. One important thing I should mention is that this internship was paid. Fifty dollars a day, which is considerably less than minimum wage especially for a 9 to 5 job, but it was money, so as a college student I was overjoyed and immediately accepted the offer.

            I worked from May to August, working on different research projects on current trends in the advertising industry, sitting in on meetings with clients, even changing website product line-ups and distribution lists. By the week of August 5^th, I was ready to say my goodbyes and head back to Penn State.

            I started packing up my desk to ready myself for my last day (Friday). And then it happened. I was leaving on Wednesday afternoon and stopped by my account manger’s office to drop off a copy of my résumé for her to look over. She was on the phone, though, and I didn’t want to interrupt so I simply set the paper on her desk and waved goodbye. On my way out to the parking lot, I realized I had forgotten to ask if my boss (the CEO of the company) would be in on Friday so that I could pick up my paycheck on my last day. I wrote up a quick email on my trusty iPhone that went something like this: 
     

 Hi Amanda,

I left a copy of my resume and was hoping you could look over it so we can discuss it on Friday. I know I should probably cut and move some things around.                     

Also, I was wondering if Jerry was going to be in Friday. I wanted to make sure I would be able to say goodbye and well.... get laid. :)

Let me know! Thanks!

Laura Kreiser

I pressed, “Send” just like that. And as that little loading bar moved across the bottom of the screen, I realized what I had just done. I’ve never been so embarrassed sitting alone in my car than I was at that very moment. My face burning, I frantically sent another “Oh my god, oh my god…that word was supposed to be PAID” email.

            I still can’t really laugh about it; although most of my friends got a huge kick out of it. Looking back, the worst part was the smiley face. I didn’t want to sound too focused on the money, so I tried to add a little friendliness that in turn came off completely creepy. Even the account managers found it hilarious, joking that as much as I might admire him, he is a married man. To this day I don’t know if they told Jerry, and I don’t think I want to know. Let’s just say I no longer trust my iPhone as I did before and I don’t trust the first draft of anything, even a simple email.