I went to make myself a piece of toast on Friday, only to be horrified to discover the toaster was broken, which might suggest to you that it doesn’t take a lot to horrify me. The plunger that carries the bread down into the guts of the machine to be toasted wouldn’t stay down.
I took the bloody thing out to my workbench in the garage where I realized fairly quickly that I have no idea how to fix a toaster. So, I went back into the house and announced, much as I might yell, “The toast is done,” that “The toaster is done.”
This news was not welcomed by the horde of toast-loving family members so I assured them to not fret. I would take care of things, as I always do.
The next day, with Mother’s Day less than 24 hours away, it suddenly occurred to me that a new toaster would make a perfect Mother’s Day gift. So out to the shops I went and found a really nice one in my price range. My price range, by the way, starts at a dollar and ends when I start crying.
I was delighted at the reception given to the new toaster by the family, especially the mother among us. She immediately set it up and marvelled at it several times that evening.
Uncharacteristically, I was feeling pretty good about myself.
I collect user’s instructional manuals like Trump men collect wives and in my filing cabinet I have several very fat files stuffed with every kind of document from thin to thick. I asked my wife where the manual for the new toaster might be. She produced it and I read it after everyone had gone home from Mother’s Day.
Imagine my surprise when I read the section in the manual about how the plunger would not stay down if the toaster was not plugged in. Immediately, being not as dumb as you might think I am, I realized why our old toaster had failed.
The next day, I fished out the forlorn old toaster from the garbage can where I had discarded it. Fortunately, nothing disgusting such as dog poo had touched the machine. I brushed it off, plugged it in, and presto chango, it worked just as fine as it had always done.
Immediately, my mind went to somewhere it shouldn’t have ventured, I now know. I will take the new toaster back to the store.
But here are a couple of realities I soon became aware of. You don’t rip a new toaster out of the hands of a recent celebrant of Mother’s Day. And as the new toaster had been put to good use all day Sunday toasting up bread slices, bagels and even hamburger buns, the objection was raised that the machine had already been put to use and it would be wrong to let some unsuspecting soul buy a used toaster, thinking it was new.
So, between the realization that mothers do not like to have their Mother’s Day gifts torn from their hands the day after, along with the morality of returning a used toaster, pretending it was unused, I was condemned to suffer a dark depression all day. Much like the colour of bread that has been left in a toaster too long.
I miss the old toaster.
And my $54.
©2022 Jim Hagarty
