After reading these blog posts you probably think that my Pasta Boat will be the death of me. But, believe me, it does more good than harm in my life (or at least, that's what I tell myself). A few Saturdays ago I was not leaving my room, as usual, and making some lunch for myself in my Pasta Boat. As I excitedly watched the microwave timer tick down from 19 minutes I got the sauce ready.
When I "cook" in my microwave I tend to feel as though I have reached the epitome of adulthood. Pulling a bottle of Ragu out of my mini fridge and heating it up in a plastic bowl from the children's section from Ikea really sums up what it means to be an adult, in my opinion.
Finally, it rang and I cranked the door open and grabbed the burning hot pasta boat filled with boiling water (which would, less than a week later, give me a sweltering blister on my left hand) with, apparently, too much force. Because the next thing I knew the glass microwave plate had suctioned to the bottom of my Pasta Boat and was hurtling towards the cracked ceramic floor in my dorm room.
Do you ever have those moments when your life just slows down and you can see the disaster that is about to ensue? For me, that's practically every second of every day in college, but at this particular second it slowed down to such a crawl that I did not even realize that the plate was hitting my foot as it smashed to pieces.
I slowly looked over at my friend Molly who was in my room watching the High School Musical movies. I could tell that she was trying not to burst out laughing.
During that particular week in my life, a lot of things broke and/or went wrong. After attempting to manually fix my Keurig machine it became clear that I would have to spring for a new one (shoutout to my parent's for letting my use their Red Card). I was down 80 dollars. And then, less than a day later, I found myself standing in the middle of my concrete box of a room surrounded by small shards of glass (rest in pieces, microwave plate) and down another 25 dollars.
Immediately I started sweeping up the pieces and Molly grabbed the bigger chunks so if my roommate happened to walk back in she wouldn't see the disaster that had just ensued (it was her microwave, by the way). I thought I had gotten everything, but it soon became clear I had not when a trail of red followed me as I walked back to my bed to get back to High School Musical. I had forgotten about the shards of glass that gouged their way into the top of my right foot and thus created a trail of blood across my white, already disgusting, floor.
Luckily, Molly stopped me before I could cause damage, and ultimately stains, to our, nasty, gray rug.
Looking down at the mess I had caused while cleaning up another mess I realized something very important: I forgot to buy Clorox wipes at the beginning of the school year. Last year I existed off of Clorox wipes. Stain on the comforter? Clorox wipe it. Coffee spilled on the carpet? Clorox wipe it. Frozen strawberry remnants all over your Little Partner's hands after she gets a hold of your smoothie supplies? Clorox wipe it.
But I failed myself in advance this year. No Clorox wipes were in sight. So I had to punt. I grabbed some paper towels and poured the last of my water from my water bottle on the floor and wiped it away.
Looking back, it may not have been the most sanitary way to approach the predicament, but it was taken care of. By the time my roommate got back to our room, the blood was cleaned up, the glass shards buried at the bottom of the trash can, and a new microwave plate ordered (that did not end up fitting our particular microwave, but that is a story for another time).
I am certainly surviving, but not necessarily thriving in college. Spring break can not come fast enough. Let's hope that no more things shatter or fall apart, or else I will not be able to afford the gas I need to get home.
Comments