We narrowly dodged an embarrassing trip back to the dealer to have a “faulty” microwave replaced. I simply wanted to heat up our first night’s dinner in the microwave on our maiden “voyage” without having to light the gas oven, because here’s the drill with that thing:
- turn oven knob to pilot setting
- perform a deep cartilage-crunching crouch
- right hand remains overhead holding in oven knob
- left hand holding unlit match
- no hand to light match
- turn knob off to avoid gas explosion whilst pondering situation
- light match
- use other arm to assist knees back to standing position to see markings on oven knob and turn back to pilot setting
- crouch down, neck and shoulders twisted to squint at unlit pilot conveniently placed right at the back of the long, shallow oven
- meanwhile match goes out
- start process all over, possibly several times
- when on verge of tears, suddenly WOOOF! In a burst of flame the oven’s alight.
- avoid looking in mirror to check damage – eyebrows will probably grow back before I see anyone I know
But could I get the microwave to work? It would count down the time on the clock but not cook. Either silent radiation was happening or the microwave was faulty. As the food remained cold, I assumed the later. “We’ll have to take the microwave back. It’s still under guarantee.” It’s just a simple microwave. You should be able to punch a few buttons to get it to go mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Ding! without resorting to the handbook.
Fortunately Jimmy had ignored my plea and various unprintable comments, read the handbook while I battled with the gas oven and patiently explained to me the difference between the button marked “time” and the button marked “timer.”
“Was that the timer I was using? Oh good! I can set it for the dinner now that it’s in the oven,” I told him in a glib but futile effort to cover the fact that I’m a numpty.
So we didn’t eat dirt. The lasagna was very tasty and probably needed to be heated in the gas oven anyway instead of being stewed into a soggy mess in the microwave.