Not For Microwave Use Only

I was very excited. I bought myself a brand new microwave oven. It has buttons and a door and a clock, and when you press the buttons other numbers take over the space where the clock is, and when you are done pressing the numbers and hit the button called Stop/Clear, the clock comes back, which doesn’t make much sense since “Clear” would seem to indicate that the screen would be clear and not have clock numbers in it. Maybe that button should be called Stop/Bring The Clock Back. I think I will write a letter to the manufacturer concerning their button naming conventions. I went to a button naming convention once. My team came up with a button named Belly.

As I was examining my new spaced-aged cooking machine, I discovered that it had a glass turntable inside. The glass was mystically frosted and had a bumpy texture to ensure food safety. There is nothing worse than a pile of pudding sliding out of the microwave oven while you are trying to cook it. I also noticed some lettering formed into the glass turntable. It read, “Not for microwave use.” WHAT THE!? Not for microwave use! Where the heck else was I going to use it, in the toaster? What kind of shenanigans were they trying to pull with this “Not for microwave use” glass turntable in the very microwave it was placed? I decided to write a letter to the manufacturer.

I’m putting you on. The glass turntable didn’t really say “Not for microwave use”. That would be crazy. But, just imagine if it did for real. What the!? What a ruse that would be! I would definitely write a letter in that case.

Dear Microwave Oven Manufacturer,

I bought one of your fine microwave ovens, and the glass turntable said it was “Not for microwave use.” WHAT THE!?

Sincerely,

Moist Rub

Then I would spend a few weeks waiting for their reply, burning my delicate microwavables all along because I had no microwavable glass turntable to help cook them evenly, and trying to fit the glass turntable into the toaster. But the day would come when I would receive their response.

Dear Moist Rub,

We do not manufacture microwave ovens. We manufacture phase shifters, switches and drivers. How did you get our address? WHAT THE?!

Sincerely,

Microwave Applications Group

Sometimes I have to slather the mundane with whimsy just to make it through the day.

Book Store Girl

I almost asked out the check out girl at Barnes and Noble yesterday. She might have been too young for me, maybe around 30, and was kind of plain jane cute. But I didn't because I figured she was poor. So I went to Steak 'n Shake by myself instead.

Hannah Montana Hates My Baby

Here is all I was told. The movie is only going to show for a week. Only a week. It’s never going to come out on DVD. If we don’t see it next week, we will never, ever, be able to see it. My life will be ruined if I don’t see it.

Well, that last part wasn’t spoken. It came across loud and clear on the expression of my daughter’s face when she was pleading with me to try to buy tickets to the Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus 3-D cinematic promotional propaganda buzz saw.

Sorry, honey, your life will just have to be ruined.

I tried to explain to her that this was just an evil marketing ploy created by the evil Disney corporation to drive up demand for a below average carnival act. The more I spoke of their diabolical plan the more her bottom lip jutted out. Eventually it was so far out that helicopters began landing on it. I could not make her understand what a huge farce she was falling for. I even told her that Miley Cyrus must hate her fans if this is how she chooses to treat them. Why would she make the movie available for only a week if she really cared about you? You don’t want to go see somebody that hates you, do you? Logic, even distorted, and possibly mean, logic, was no match for her infatuated will. So I turned to education. I showed her a typical supply and demand chart and explained to her how it works: no matter what the supply and demand, the price is always too high.




She didn’t seem to get it. So, I threw some puppies and bunnies on it.

Still, no response. I carried on and showed her what happens when an evil corporation decides to limit the supply of something that they know young, sweet, adorable kids want so bad.


To make it a little more relevant, I added some real life consequences to the chart.



“But why can’t we go?”

Because it’s all bullshit, that’s why. Well, I didn’t say it like that. But I assured her that she will have an opportunity in the future to see the movie, and that she will look back on this event when she is older and realize how wise and caring (and handsome) her daddy was to make such a difficult decision, not to mention how average of an act Hannah Montana actually is. The same thing happened to me with Shaun Cassidy. She’ll understand one day. Once the hate, vindictiveness and emotional scarring clears up.

She walked away with her head down. I felt crummy but I knew I was doing the right thing. I would not be a Disney pawn of torture, even though that is what I was. But it wasn’t me dripping water on her forehead. Disney ran the hose and set me up as the conduit of pain. I curse them, flagrantly.

My daughter seemed to get over it in about an hour. The next day I received a phone call from my ex-wife: “Go on to Fandango and help me buy Hannah Montana tickets.”

I most certainly will not!

After denying her request I emailed her my supply and demand charts as evidence. Her response was, “I know but she REALLY wants to go.” I can’t argue with that, but I was determined not to be an accessory to blatant marketing malfeasance. It took her most of the day to navigate through Fandango’s server clogs, but she was able to buy four tickets to a 9:15 pm show for tonight at a theater miles and miles from her house. They are probably at the show right now. I declined their invitation to join them, so my successor had to go. He didn’t seem very excited about it.

Today I learned that, now that the hysteria of being the first on the block to see the supposed limited-time-only concert movie has subsided and all the money has been collected, Disney has graciously extended the run of this fiasco, allowing theaters unlimited showings.

Someday my daughter will realize that I am never wrong, and when I am, it’s only because I wasn’t right. I hope she enjoys the movie, but I also hope she learns a lesson. And that lesson is: get some better taste in music.




As for Disney, you can suck my left nut.