Otherwise known as the Borer kitchen. Dante had no idea.
I am sitting here drinking granulated coffee. People will say, “But it’s still coffee.” Yes, just as boiling beef is still part of a cow, but it ain’t prime rib. Our coffeemaker is on the fritz, as is our microwave. Yes, all in the same day. It had to have been some circuit breaker problem, right? Yes, the wiring in this house must have been done by someone deep in his cups. There’s no rhyme nor reason to it. There are upstairs bedrooms on the same circuit as an outlet in the living room, for instance. This disorder is how we know that the microwave and the coffee pot are unrelated casualties. We do seem to roach at least one appliance each winter, but, not in this case. No. Just sadistic coincidence. I sincerely debated about crawling out of bed this morning.
So, it was the teakettle for me this morning.
I ran across an offer in college about receiving a free coffeemaker if I signed up to receive coffee every month. Being a reader of the fine print, I discovered that one could cancel at any time with no obligations, and so—that’s what we’ve done for the last, oh, five years now. Get the coffee maker, and cancel the coffee. You simply cannot beat a $10 coffeemaker. They’re great. They’re simple (one can make coffee in about thirty seconds), sleek, stylish, and they just make a really good cup of coffee. You can even set them to brew for you ahead of time.
It’s spreading, too. Now David’s parents get the coffeemakers, as well as Trish up the road.
So, really, it was no big deal that ours died; we’d simply get another. Well, apparently the company finally caught on to our scheme, and we were rejected. So, David decided to perform reparative surgery. The operating table was covered in various, coffee-globuled parts. It was a grisly scene. You see, the procedure was supposed to be simple: Switch out the offending organ for one that worked, in this case, the burner (obtained from an extra maker of in-laws). I decided to sit in the waiting room, and after about fifteen minutes, decided to have a peek. The surgeon, wiping his hands upon a kitchen towel, sheepishly stated his mistake: He shouldn’t have opened up the first one until he was sure he wouldn’t do irreparable damage to it in the opening; which he promptly discovered upon ruining the second coffee maker upon opening it.
Luckily, my eye for fine print did catch a one year limited warranty. “David, when did we get that pot?” I asked with an overwhelming sense of urgency, and not one without brimming hope. A phone call to the company: January 2008. We were saved! Now, we only have to wait….2 weeks for delivery.
(Why not just go buy a new one, you ask? We have discovered that all other coffeemakers seem to make the coffee taste like plastic. In our heads? Perhaps. But we MUST have the Gevalia coffeemakers.)
So, here I sit, drinking my tepid, instant cup of coffee. Here is an illustration of my agony and woe.