Yesterday morning I rose at 4:30 to drive to Wilmington, from where I was to catch a train to NYC, from where I was to take a cab to my 9:00 meeting at 185th and Amsterdam. Because I knew that I would not be at my cheerful best at that unseemly hour, I had made certain preparations the night before, laying out the clothes that I would wear; placing my shoes, wallet, car keys, and cell phone near the door, and putting my oatmeal into the microwave so that all I would have to do upon waking was push a single button.
My alarm woke me at the appointed hour, and as planned, I shuffled to the microwave to push start. My oatmeal cooked while I took my shower. What could be more efficient? I was most gratified by my good planning. I returned upstairs to an unpleasant surprise–an awful, acrid smell filled the kitchen, along with no small quantity of black smoke. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what was burning, but then I saw the origin of the problem. Smoke was pouring out of the microwave vent. I peered inside and saw my tragic mistake. I had not added water to the oatmeal. Apparently, it is a critical ingredient.
Using potholders, I removed the bowl from the microwave. It contained a solid mass of smoldering black oat. I placed the bowl on the stovetop, where it promptly shattered into thousands of tiny shards, likely in response to the indignity just suffered.
What is the purpose of this post? Is it to be taken as object lesson or morality play? To suggest as much would be to assume that you are as big a fool as I am. Perhaps the only thing to take away from this sad episode is that, if you live in Chestertown, it’s probably not a good idea to try and get to Washington heights by 9:00am.
Or maybe just that it’s better to avoid oatmeal altogether?
28 hours later, the house still smells awful. And is it just me, or does the grin on the face of the Quaker Oats Man seem more like a smirk?
