I'm dreading my frozen meal not only because of the lack of taste and third world serving size but also because I'll have to fight the inevitable microwave line at high noon. The microwave per employee ratio on our floor is approximately 1:758 which leads to a packed pantry that is the square footage of a kitchen island. Just thinking about avoiding this scenario accelerates my hunger pangs so I head to the pantry. I know there's a five-minute window before the line of hyenas start forming to microwave their zebra meat.
Today I'm prepared. My body and my frozen dinner are promptly facing the microwave at 11:50. I position myself in front of the microwave in a manner that resembles Shaq fending off Duncan for a rebound. I get a concerned glance from the first hyena entering the kitchen. She tries to feign lack of comprehension but she knows she'd be doing the same thing if the roles were reversed. That's right, I'm boxing you out bitch along with the rest of your carnivorous clan.
My lunch has successfully completed the unfreezing process and I can't help but smile at the mad rush I have so calculatingly avoided. The next time this place will be empty is 2pm. The line quickly forms and the late-comers are forced to either completely ignore each other or engage in painfully polite conversation. The ones who choose to ignore, tap their toes and stare at the T-minus countdown on the microwave timer. Others ask, "what do you have?" followed by a dissertation on the recipe, its ingredients, and how it has been passed down from generation to generation. Really? You are doing it such an honor by placing it in the microwave.
The next hyena in line has to microwave...a sandwich. No, it's not a homemade sandwich. It's a pre-made sandwich specifically designed for microwave use. I can understand not having time to make a sandwich in the morning but at least go to the deli during lunch instead of showing up with that. Those lunches should be renamed to "I F*cking Give Up." The dark stripes on the bread did not come from a Wolfgang Puck panini sandwich press, they're more likely to be pumpernickel flavored magic marker.
And then there is the motherlode, the employee who pops in a frozen pot-pie that takes 10 full minutes to microwave. Anything that needs to stay in the microwave longer than it takes most humans to run a mile is not a food product, it is a chemical reaction. Something heating up this long leads to the "ooh, that's hot" comment.
When you have something cooking in a conventional oven at 450 degrees for 15 minutes, common sense tells you that it’s hot. You put on oven-mitts and remove the meal. Somewhere along the heating evolution chain, people have forgotten this when it comes to the microwave. We pull items out and drop them on the counter with the comment "ooh, that’s hot!". Really, it is? I wonder if it has anything to do with the ionizing radiation that’s heating your food at a frequency of 2450 MHz inside of one minute. Cavemen didn’t put their hands on a burning log, they knew better. We can’t seem to grasp this concept.
Does microwave radiation make my food hot?The lengthy cooking process of the plutonium pot pie inevitably produces a line cutter who, growing impatient, waltzes past everyone and tries to fire up the microwave. At this point, all of the hyenas have to grit their teeth and politely tell the alpha female that not only is she out of turn but they will resort to cannibalism if her index finger advances one inch closer to the "Start" button. The alpha female meets their eyes, respects their malignant threat, and slowly backpedals out of the pantry in her Luciano Padovan pumps.
While all these dramatic events occurred, I was able to scarf down my Weight Watchers spaghetti dish that consisted of approximately eight noodles. I'm still starving. Good thing I brought two frozen dinners for lunch. The microwave will be all mine at 2pm.
No comments:
Post a Comment