The Brave Little Toaster

My family has had a long, illustrious, and somewhat infamous history with toasters. Yes, toasters. Not toaster ovens, for those are far too complicated for us to handle with any kind of competency and, though we may not know much, we at least know our place. Besides, if we can't handle "adjust the setting, push the button," I doubt we're ready for such an upgrade.

But our other problem is that, for some reason, we have historically never purchased toasters new. Rather, we have inherited them "gently" used from other locales. Our current toaster, for instance, was once my grandmother's, and after she passed away four years ago, we took it to replace the one we had, which was (unsurprisingly) on the fritz. For four years, it has served us admirably well.

It does, however, have one interesting quirk: if you adjust the setting mid-toast, it does not take kindly, and will erratically elongate or shorten the toasting cycle at its own mechanical discretion. And since I do not like my Eggos to resemble hockey pucks, I am forced to watch my waffles diligently and pop the button whenever I feel they are at the peak of their warm fluffiness.

This morning, however, in an act of appeasement, I let the first two waffles toast to the end of the cycle. Sure, they were a little crisp, but at least I had the prospect of my third waffle to satiate me. As I ate, I placed the third waffle into the slot, depressed the button, and went to enjoy my pucks.

No more than ten seconds later, the button popped my waffle up. Alarmed at how quickly it finished, I went and felt the waffle thoroughly. (I'm sure you're giggling right now. Trust me, I am too.) Sure enough, warm at the edges, but cold in the middle. Back in for more, I declared! Once more, I depressed the button.

I didn't even sit back down again when the button popped once more. Only this time, my insolence had clearly angered the toasting gods.

For my waffle was not sitting in its slot, awaiting my approbation. No, it had been flung completely free of the toaster, and was sitting a foot and a half to the left of the enraged appliance.

So naturally, I just sat back down with the waffle and ate it quietly and contentedly. Was it perfect? No.

But holy shit, I do not want to piss that toaster off again...

Merging FAIL

I have defended New Jersey drivers for quite some time. I'm not about to risk my credibility by saying we're the best drivers in the country, but a) we're a hell of a lot better than Maryland drivers (who suck...A LOT), and b) we drive crappily, but we drive crappily better than any other crappy drivers out there.

Despite this, New Jerseyans do have an issue with one particular driving maneuver, and I've never understood why.

Merging, contrary to popular belief in the Garden State, is not that fucking hard. Really now. It's like a zipper--one at a time, just like they taught us in elementary school--and the farther behind the merge that you begin to "zip up," the less of a bottleneck the merge itself becomes.

Today, while driving east on I-80 coming home from State College, I experienced one of the most abysmal merges of all time. The highway already had a solid white line between the left and middle lane, and most traffic was in the right two lanes. One mile before, a large orange sign indicated that three lines would be reduced to one. Thinking ahead, I switched into the right lane. My job was done.

But since most of the driving public isn't as smart as me, they took the impending merge as an opportunity to spread out further, from two lanes into all three. So now, when the first lane merged over, where it had earlier been empty, it was now a disaster in and of itself. Awesome.

The second part of the merge was even better, though, because with two lanes of impatient motherfuckers trying to get one inch ahead, I should have expected the worst. But I didn't. So when I saw cars shifting quickly into the shoulder just ahead of me, I was alarmed.

Then I noticed why. Someone had rear-ended another person. But it wasn't someone merging in who got hit. It was two people who were in the same lane the whole time. Someone merged in, the car in front stopped, the car behind didn't.

Now, for a little deductive reasoning. If we examine the rules of merging above, we have to conclude that the person who failed was either a) the one who merged in when they shouldn't, or b) the guy who wouldn't let someone else merge in appropriately. So who's the only innocent one? The guy who got rear-ended. There's no justice.

Sure, I got a road-raging laugh out of it, but it's kinda sad too. It's not really that hard, folks. Just remember: it's like a zipper.