Here’s the story of a microwave, an interview, and nudity.
I don’t think a week that started with exploding peas and ended with me sitting in the nude in the middle of winter can be considered a normal week. I was anxious telling you about my amazing exploding peas, readers, but apparently, it happens all the time. And the worst part is, nobody is doing a damn thing about it! Yes, there are more pressing issues in the world, but every problem needs a solution. There I was, heating up a lovely dinner dad had cooked for me – steak, mash, carrots and peas – and suddenly, I hear a small popping sound coming from the microwave. So I open the microwave and there are peas everywhere! They had exploded! There were more peas stuck to the roof of the microwave than actually on the plate. I stared at the microwave, scratching my head. But not because the peas had exploded, but because the plate was covered with a solid plastic lid. How did the peas go through solid plastic? I could chalk this down as another one of life’s many mysteries. Mysteries that always seem to keep happening to me…
I don’t mean to waffle on about peas. You can’t, for a start, because they’re not actually waffles. I suppose you could pea on peas. Oh, no, that’s not great, either. Anyway, I have a theory. Maybe the lid was lifted off because of some pressure building underneath it. And maybe that pressure was the peas. And maybe when the lid lifted, the peas saw their opportunity and bolted for the nearest exit. Which resulted in an untimely death splattered against the inner walls of the microwave. I’m just guessing here, of course. I’m no scientist. Obviously. Mr. Professor Fanatical about Exploding Peas over here.
After some brief Googling, I discovered that this is not that uncommon. In fact, it’s happened to loads of people. Am I the only one who’s concerned? The humble British garden pea has turned into some sort of kamikaze nutter. It’s only a matter of time, readers, before a microwave, somewhere in Britain, goes ‘ping’, the door flies open, and out comes hundreds of peas right into the mush of some poor, unsuspecting individual.
And I bet, I bet, it won’t get mentioned in that poor sod’s obituary. I think the peas are up to something. Of course, it’s entirely possible the family doesn’t want to mention in the obituary about the moment they found their beloved on the kitchen floor with a hundred tiny pea-shaped dimples in his face…
If the peas are up to something, I have to applaud them. It’s brilliant. I mean, who’s gonna believe the peas are rising up against us? I salute our new pea overlords, for one, and I encourage you to do the same.
I was on edge, readers, when this pea incident occurred. I harped on endlessly last week about not being given a chance at interview because of how shy I am. Yet, this week, something remarkable happened. I had an interview for work experience and I got it!
So why was I on edge? The entire run-up to the interview wasn’t great. First I was afraid. Then I was petrified. I thought I couldn’t live without fear by my side. I spent my night thinking how my brain has done me wrong. But then I grew strong. And I learned – oh, hang on. No, sorry, they’re the lyrics from ‘I Will Survive’…
But the point is valid. I was worried I’d get the wrong bus. The wrong time. That I’d get lost, even though I’ve been there before. That I’d trip over and have to go to the interview with a grazed face, something that has happened before, although that time, it wasn’t my face that was bruised, it was my backside, meaning I couldn’t sit without squirming like I had a ferret in my pants, but that’s another story.
This is the curse of the shy one. Each day is like living your own personal Armageddon. I was so on edge that, the night before, after my peas exploded, I started becoming paranoid that they’re planning a takeover of the world. And that’s stupid. It’s not like they have a giant green man who could decimate all our major cities and… oh, wait a minute…
Run for your lives, the peas are coming!
And it was fine, readers. That’s the biggest bitch about being shy. You worry constantly about every little thing and it’s always fine. There’s never anything to worry about. It all went smoothly and I even got the work experience. And I was up against so many people. Many of whom were far more confident and outgoing than I. But am I excited? NO! Because I’m shy and I’m now worried that something with go wrong on my first day. Even though I’ve worked there before! And so the cycle continues.
It’s a radio station where I’ll be working, by the way. But no, I’m not going to be on the radio. There’s about as much chance of that happening as there is me wearing a skimpy thong…
So I went home and, eventually, I had some time to relax and think about all the fun I’m going to have over the next couple months. And then I realised I was sweating. Quite a lot. I didn’t feel ill. Ah, the radiator was on. Well, the British winter so far has been a particularly nasty one.
So I turn it off. An hour passes by. Still hot. Another. Even hotter. I go to check the radiator. It’s absolutely boiling! It hadn’t turned off, it had gotten hotter! It was like that bus that wouldn’t slow down. Was that a thing? Sounds made up. Never mind. No, actually – wasn’t it a movie? The bus, not the radiator that won’t cool down. Sounds like a British remake, if anything…
I don’t know what’s wrong with the radiator. I presume the thermostat is on the blink. So I opened the window in an attempt to cool down. I was still hot. Well, be damned, there was no other option. One not many would consider in the depths of a harsh northern winter. A drastic, drastic solution.
And that, readers, is how I started my week with exploding peas and ended it sitting in the nude…
American writer, Jarod Kintz (b. 1982), once wrote: ‘I didn’t list listening as one of my skills, probably because I didn’t hear what the interviewer asked.’
Peace Out :|:
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