Nuclear winter

You’ll note from this photo that there’s a great gaping hole where the microwave oven should be.

Last Wednesday evening I noticed that my egg wasn’t cooking, no matter what setting or for how long I had it in there. Thursday I called the property manager And Friday the repairman came out. (Not quite the service I had at the Apartment Megalopolis in San José; but this property management company is decidedly more down-market than that place.)

It seems the magnetron tube has died. And the repairman was exceedingly upset about the fact that I live on the third floor and there’s no elevator. Meaning not only did he have to remove the oven from the wall (“These things are really heavy!”), but had to get it down two flights of stairs.

(“How did they get the appliances in here?” he wailed, looking at the side-by-side refrigerator. I assume they schlepped them up. Unless they built the unit around them.)

I expect he won’t be the one to bring either the repaired unit or a replacement back up here.

Anyhow, I’m finding that not having a nuclear device cramps my cooking style considerably. No bacon. No quick zapping of leftover Persian food from the takeout place across the street. No heating up the coffee that’s gone cold.

Bugger getting the appliances up here. How am I going to survive until I get my microwave back? I actually considered buying a teeny one for the interim, because I know it’ll take forever for the property manager and owner decide on what action to take.

Prisoner of technology, that's me.