Microwave Door

SANITY ON BACKORDER

From Hive Peak Boulevard

By Danu Marche

Humor Columnist

Published: October 11, 2024

Synapse & Spectacle

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This week, my microwave door ended our relationship.

It didn’t just close. It slammed. A sudden, passive-aggressive thunk that carried the emotional weight of “We need to talk” followed by radio silence.

I wasn’t even being unreasonable. I reheated soup. That’s it. I didn’t burn popcorn. I didn’t run it empty. I didn’t even commit the ultimate domestic betrayal—microwaving fish. But apparently, somewhere between the “beep” and the door swing, my microwave decided our trust had eroded beyond repair.

And here’s the thing: I’ve noticed all microwave doors do this. The exact same slam. It’s not the kind of polite click you get from a fridge. It’s not the dignified “thunk” of a dryer. It’s a sudden, echoing closure that says, “I’m not mad, just disappointed—except I am mad, and now I’m taking the kids to my sister’s.”

Some claim this is just physics: springs, latches, industrial design. But deep down, we all know it’s politics. These doors have meetings. They’ve voted on a unified front. No matter who you are, or how softly you try to close them, they will slam, and they will make it personal.

I tried to outwit mine by gently guiding the door shut, holding it like a fragile relic. It still found a way to finish with a decisive WHACK—like it was correcting my posture. I swear it muttered something about “boundaries” under its breath.

Of course, the real kicker is the moment after the slam. That pause where you’re just standing there, holding your mug, staring at the machine like two people in the aftermath of an argument—unsure who should speak first. It’s the domestic Cold War of appliances.

Meanwhile, outside my window, the same squirrel from last week has graduated from breadstick smuggling to… is that a stapler? Yes. A full-size stapler. Balanced on my sill like it’s chairing a very hostile board meeting. I can’t prove it’s connected, but I’m beginning to suspect the squirrel and the microwave are in a coalition.

Halfway through my indignation, I realized something horrifying: the microwave door slam is also a personality test. The speed at which you forgive it says everything about you. People who immediately shrug it off? Saints. People who mutter “oh, you again” under their breath? Realists. People who slam it back? Well… that’s how kitchen civil wars start.

My personal low point came when I tried to explain this to a friend and they said, “Or maybe it’s just a door?” That’s the problem. If we reduce it to just a door, then we lose the beautiful illusion that our appliances are in complex emotional entanglements with us. And frankly, that’s all that’s keeping some of us going.

By the end of the day, I forgave my microwave. Not because I wanted to—but because I had leftovers. It slammed again, of course, and I pretended not to care. That’s what mature relationships are: pretending the slam doesn’t hurt while Googling “how to make gazpacho” just to avoid the conversation.

So until appliance diplomacy improves, I’ll be practicing my silent treatment. And maybe learning to eat cold food. Or at least until the squirrel resigns from its apparent role as mediator.

“If your microwave door has declared emotional independence, please submit your formal grievance in triplicate.”

©2024 Danu Marche