Technically I don't have permission (yet) to re-print this email sent to me by Chris Wyman, but I have promised him a new container of lo mein if he has an issue with it. Actually, I'll probably end up buying him some Chinese noodles even if he doesn't have an issue with it. In any case, here's a fun story written by a man with self-proclaimed delicate and ladylike toes.
When I got home on Friday, I noticed that something in my kitchen smelled kind of funky. My roommate Tom has been off visiting relatives for a few weeks, and when left to my own devices I try to minimize the presence of perishable items in the apartment... so I was a little confused. I'd eaten Chinese take-out a few nights earlier, though, so maybe some decomposing lo mein was stuck to the bottom of one of the cartons and stinking up the garbage? I figured taking out the trash would get rid of the odor, and promptly did so.
The next morning, I meandered into the kitchen to discover that the smell was not only still present, but noticeably worse. A quick visual search of the fridge, cupboards, microwave, and stove revealed no suspects -- everything in sight was clean, non-perishable, or sealed in an airtight container, and no lingering remnants appeared to be stuck in the nooks and crannies. Naturally, I switched to following my nose, and carefully sniffed everything present, moving from likely suspects (like the drain in the kitchen sink and a pair of running shoes I'd left next to the radiator to dry) to ridiculously unlikely suspects that I felt the need to check "just in case" (like the paper-towel dispenser and a box of Cheerios).
Eventually, my nose reached the toaster -- or, more specifically, Tom's toaster. I do not own a toaster, nor had I ever used Tom's toaster. I'm not sure if I even know how to make toast. Like most normal people (or so I assume), if I want toast, I go to a restaurant. Moreover, this was a fairly new appliance -- Tom had received it as a christmas present, if memory serves. (I'm not sure how this fact entered into my reasoning over why the toaster couldn't possibly be the source of the bad smell... I guess I assumed that young toasters are less likely to "go bad," or that enough time hadn't passed for the toaster to have something rot-worthy entered into it?)
Well, in any event, I was wrong, because after one investigative sniff of the air around the toaster, I nearly fell over. Good LORD. There's only one thing in the universe that produces the ripe, charnel-tinted vapors that I had just inhaled, and that is our good, old-fashioned friend DEATH. Although no visual evidence could be produced to support my theory, it was clear to me that someone or something had crawled into Tom's toaster to die, and had done a pretty good job of it.
Since Tom is, like I said, on holiday, I decided to give his toaster a fair trial before executing it. Taking it apart to fish out the source of the odor was clearly out of the question, since this would involve occupying the same physical space as the toaster (and thus also its intolerable) smell for several minutes. Instead, I put a plastic bag over my hand, picked up the toaster, and ran outside, depositing the appliance under a lilac bush. Upon returning to the kitchen, the overall smell was worse, as if I had disturbed it, and it had become enraged -- but I was not deterred. The trial would continue.
The next morning, I confidently entered the kitchen and inhaled deeply. It smelled of dish soap, which is -- in fact -- one of several dozen acceptable smells for a kitchen to have, so I was pleased... but also saddened over what I knew had to happen next. I quickly found another two plastic bags for my hands (no sense in wasting a perfectly good pair of gloves, right?) and marched out to the lilac bush.
The cartoon version of events playing in my head expected the lilac to have wilted and browned over night from the presence of its new neighbor, but this was thankfully not the case. The toaster was still there, though, and it was attracting the interest of about a half-dozen flies. I don't remember what happened next, probably because I had resolved not to breathe once I had left the kitchen and was running out of oxygen, but I'm pretty sure it involved our apartment building's dumpster. When I came to my senses, I was back in the kitchen, searching desperately for a scented candle.
I learned many years ago (from Sesame Street, I think) that toasters, like ice cream cones and telephones, are not alive, and thus do not die. Also, I learned about two weeks ago that our apartment building has mice. So, naturally, I am operating under the impression that we are now short a toaster AND a mouse. Tom has yet to return from his vacation, but I have a feeling that when he returns, this whole story will end up costing me a trip to Target and about forty bucks. It will be money well spent, though, because I may be able to use this experience as evidence that we probably need to get a cat.
