The Life of a Microwave

Pretend you are a kitchen appliance or piece of furniture. You feel that your family is overusing you. Write a story or poem about your grievances, or a letter of resignation


Life as a Microwave…

I can still remember the kind and gentle hands of the lady who was in charge of assembling me back at the place of my birth, General Electric. Every once in awhile she would inflict a necessary spot of pain on my circuit boards but she was always reassuring me that every thing would be ok when she was done. She was right… as long as I stayed in that dark and dusty cardboard box hiding below a metal shelf at a Wal*Mart store somewhere in Pennsylvania.

Then, through the thinness of my shelter I began to hear Christmas music and more metal carts with hard rubber wheels would pass the aisle I was in. I was excited when I felt people begin to shake my little cardboard house. Then I was even picked up and I heard someone say, “Is this the one you want?”

There was a reply, which made my carousel spin on its axis. “Yes, that is exactly the one I want. Look at those sleek buttons, that big see-through door, the large door pulls and it is big enough for what I need it for”.

I was ecstatic to be talked about in this way, but then I was taken to the outside world; a world where people no longer walk by me. It was cold out there and they even put me into another box that had the biggest wheels I have ever seen. For me it was a long, bouncy time before I was taken out of this moving metal box and carried again. I felt my shiny white body being taken higher up than I have ever gone before. Then I heard a couple of doors open and more voices. They weren’t talking about me unless they called me a “Jake” and besides that I had no working parts that would allow me to lower myself.

I was put down, the cardboard security covering was opened up and I was shaken up and down until the cardboard lay on the floor while I was floating in the air. Then I was put on a counter underneath some cupboards and I was plugged in. My moments of service were now in the present. My thoughts were could I live up to my guarantee, would I please my new owner, and would the electric can opener accept me for what I was?

The voices ceased, my door was opened and inside of my belly was a plate of yellow tube-like morsels mixed in a reddish liquid. My door was closed my timer twisted and my inner light and carousel turned. I was being used.

This was the start of my useful life. I thought I was providing this family with a luxury item. I didn’t think I would be their only means of cooking. Why couldn’t they love me like a person and not just a simple, useful appliance? The lady with the soft hands and the soldering gun didn’t warn me of people like this… I thought because she was so kind that all humans were like her.

I am left with only one solution and that is to resign… but how do I do that? Do I try to short out my own systems and render me useless? Do I swallow my pride and look at the other side of human nature; the side of their laziness, their uncleanness, their ‘always in a rush lifestyle’ and continue to work even though I can’t stand the smell of burnt popcorn or the mess of last weeks leftovers inside of me. Or can I just leave my resignation on my digital clock?

Appliances or kind people reading this please help me make this monumental decision.