It’s surprising how much time and effort and help is necessary to get a new microwave oven. And how many injuries can occur.
I found that out this week.
Several days ago, my old microwave gave up the ghost. I’d turn it on, it would work for about 20 seconds, and then go dark. I’d unplug it, and then re-plug it, and nothing changed. I even crept down to the creepy basement and looked at the fuse box. Aha! One of the buttons said “off.” So, I punched it back on, trooped up the stairs, and tried the microwave again. Still, the same results: four seconds of running, then kaput.
No way around it, I needed to buy a new one.
I obsessed over the various and even arduous steps involved in this. First, the big old microwave would have to be removed. It was here when I moved into the house in 1999, so I guess it wanted to retire. That brought about a mad frenzy of cleaning out the grime that was under and behind it. It’s amazing how much can accrue in the course of more than 20 years. At least, I didn’t find any dead crickets or mice there. The cleaning frenzy took about a half hour.
Then, it was time to haul the heavy useless thing out to the car so I could take it to the dump. Talk about arduous! I hit upon the idea of using a rolling desk chair to move the thing to the back door. But then, there were steps and a sidewalk and a bunch of gravel and dirt to traverse.
I had already engaged in the chore of buying a new one. I couldn’t lift it off the shelf and into the basket, so I waited until a man came along. I do a lot of that: Waiting for a man to come along. If you give them a sunny smile and a cheery plea, they always help.
I pushed the big box out to the car, and then … waited for a man to come along. Soon enough, he did. I asked if he’d be willing to ride up the road to Hot Springs and help bring it inside. He and his wife, and I, laughed at the very idea.
I wrestled the old microwave out to the porch, and then spied a big rolling grocery basket under the carport. I dropped in the old machine, and then trundled that down to the car. I dragged out the new microwave and dropped it into the basket.
I managed to get it up to the porch, but could not lift out the dang thing. It was just too heavy.
I realized it was time to call for some help. I was worn out and had a bunch of big, scary bruises on my right hand from all the wrestling and trundling. I called a neighbor who has helped me out on occasion and is always very capable. Thank heavens he was home, and agreed to come up to the house.
He brought just what was needed: A big dolly. Without too much hoopla, he had the new microwave in the door and was cutting open the box. I am so glad he offered to set it up for me. What a guy. He even set the clock!
Then, he took the box and the Styrofoam, and the old microwave, and offered to take them to the dump. God bless him!
Aren’t good, capable, cheerful neighbors a great thing to have? You gotta love ‘em!
