The Microwave Mishap
My son, Aaron, suggested I let my readers in on some of the crazy things that have happened to me, saying, “If you can’t think of anything, I can give you plenty of information.” What in the world could he mean? Would he be talking about the time I broke my tailbone while riding his 10-speed bike? Coccyx, the ER doctor called it. Or maybe it was the time I perched on the arm of a glider rocker to hang curtains. It glided and so did I. That fall cost me shoulder surgery for a torn rotator cuff. But I think his favorite of all my mishaps was the one with the microwave oven.
It was back in the day when microwaves were so large they took half your counter space. It was also when my youngest son, Jay, was just tall enough to reach over the kitchen counter. Jay always carried a pocket size G.I. Joe figure in each hand. I could picture those little plastic guys melting in my new microwave so I had my husband put the appliance on a shelf above my double ovens. Carl even took out the doors to the cabinet behind the shelf so he could wedge a portion of the boxy frame into that space, making certain it was secure and couldn’t possibly fall. Granted, I had to use a little step stool to get to my handy, dandy, new oven, but it gave me my precious counter space so it was worth it.
One day, I went on a cleaning spree and decided to scrub the microwave but my step stool was missing. Without thinking, I grabbed a bar stool and climbed on it but soon realized I had a problem. How do I get down from this thing? Common sense said to sit down then get off, but a voice inside my head said, “Just jump!” Not the right choice! My feet never hit the floor—nor did any other part of my body. I had left the door to the microwave open and it had large L-shaped hooks that locked the door into place when closed. When I jumped, the sleeve of my blouse caught on one of those hooks and jerked me to a halt. My first thought was what extraordinary fabric not to tear. Then I realized I couldn’t get down so I yelled for help.
Aaron, then a college student, happened to be home and came running to the kitchen but stopped in his tracks when he saw his mother dangling from the microwave. After laughing himself silly, he finally lifted me up and off the offending hook. Thank goodness Carl had wedged that thing into a tight space to keep it secure, not that he expected anyone to rappel from it.
Both Aaron and his dad had a great laugh over my demise. If the TV program, “America’s Funniest Videos” had been around at that time, I’m sure Aaron would have grabbed a camera and won the $10,000 prize. As it was, he had one more story to relate to his college roommates about his crazy parents.
Today, without his dad to watch over me, Aaron is not as happy to hear of his mom’s escapades, being as he is four hours away and figures I am a little more fragile than years gone by. He cautions me to be careful when I get on a stool to change light bulbs and air filters. And strangely, during a recent, extended visit to see Aaron and his family, the over-the-range microwave in my rented townhouse quit working. Aaron was immediately concerned, saying, “I’ll bring a small, countertop microwave, Mom. Just don’t do anything weird.”
Weird? Me? Now, what in the world could he be talking about!