Recently, my wife decided we needed a new fridge, despite the fact that there was, in my view, nothing wrong with the old one. Sure, it was a little old, in the same sense that Keith Richards is old, but was also a piece of history.
For example, some of the fridge magnets on it provided a valuable archaeological record of the long line of local takeaway restaurants that have come and gone, possibly because we didn’t buy anything from them. That isn’t because we are diligent home cooks, but because my wife never throws out fridge magnets. I suspect she thinks that they will one day become very valuable, and the guys from Pawn Stars or American Pickers will offer us a fortune for them.
In any event, the result of this is that our fridge has a dense layer of fridge magnets, newer ones constantly covering old ones. The numbers for takeaway places are buried beneath magnets from plumbers, tree loppers and politicians, plus of course calendars from real estate agents, some of which are so old the year only has three digits (the calendars I mean, not the agents).
You are probably thinking that we could simply move the magnets, but I have long been concerned that they are the only things holding the fridge together, and are also no doubt providing valuable shielding against the radiation our fridge emits, since it is old enough to be built entirely out of lead.
Another reason the fridge may produce dangerous emissions is that we keep a lot of leftovers in there. My wife will not throw out the remains of a meal unless they are so small as to only be detectable via an electron microscope, meaning we have a lot of stuff in there that has developed bacterial life which has probably already worked out a rudimentary language. It is only a matter of time before activist greenies break down our door and demand recognition of this important new species, and of course compensation.
To be fair, the fridge has also become too small. We got it when our kids were babies, a time of life during which – as any parent can tell you – children refuse to eat anything that is actual food. At that age, children value food more for its entertainment value rather its nutritional properties; so mostly it ends up thrown on the floor, sprayed all over Mum’s new dress just before heading out to her cousin’s wedding, or smeared all over the nearest pet.
The point is that when your kids’ food needs can be handled by breast milk, cordial and play-dough, you don’t need much of a fridge. Our kids are now teenagers, however, and their dietary needs have expanded to include, at last count, everything. Teenagers require more food than the inhabitants of Australia Zoo, and are nowhere near as patient about it.
So we needed a bigger fridge, as well as one that hadn’t been manufactured before the widespread availability of electricity. Unfortunately, this meant we had to go to a shop that sells appliances, which is always a nightmare because the people who work there want to sell you things – and not just the things you want to buy.
As soon as we entered the place salespeople pounced on us from several directions, none of which was the direction in which the fridges were. When my wife explained that we were after a fridge, a kindly salesperson explained that, while he couldn’t sell her a fridge per se, he had some great vacuum cleaners, and managed to imply that my wife would be a complete moron to buy a new fridge without first purchasing a new vacuum clear to clean the fridge cavity before the new one arrived.
A second salesperson explained that she couldn’t sell us a fridge because, technically, she did not work at the shop we were in; she did work for a company that sold entire kitchens, though, and she could certainly help with that. She assured us that the new kitchen would have plenty of space for the new fridge, assuming we ever got one, and of course our new vacuum cleaner.
Thankfully we finally found someone who did work in the fridge department, and was happy to sell us a fridge. We even thought we were going to get a discount, because she asked if we were with a certain phone company, and we are; but it turned out that the fridge salesperson was also able to help us get a better plan for our phones.
“Why?” I laughed, being my usual jokey self, “Can the fridge make phone calls? Ha Ha!”
She gave me a puzzled look and said that the model we had ordered connected to the internet and didn’t really need to make phone calls, although she could find one that did if we needed it.
Finally we had our fridge ordered and dodged our way past the plethora of salespeople trying to sell us essential fridge accessories such as toasters, televisions, dishwashers and robot vacuum cleaners. Indeed, my wife showed hitherto-unrevealed athletic abilities on the way out, reminding me of a young Michael O’Connor, stepping of both feet as she weaved past them, and showing all the determination of Peter Costello mowing down journalists at the airport in our final push for the door.
I know some of you are probably thinking, why not just order on-line? Unfortunately, we live in a strange corner of the world where all goods ordered on-line have to pass through the Bermuda triangle, meaning our goods can be either on-time or what we ordered, but not both.
Still, our fridge is now delivered and installed, and our old fridge – plus the thriving bacterial biomes contained within – has been taken away, probably for use in chemical weapons development. I am concerned though, because my wife has started to like the idea of a robot vacuum cleaner, but I don’t think I could trust it. I don’t want it blabbing to the fridge about the state of our floors, and the fridge then going on-line to trash us on Instagram, especially since I do not, technically, know what Instagram is.
© Shane Budden 2024
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