1769. Wasting time

Lloyd would reheat a mug of coffee twice a day. He would place the mug in the microwave, press the one minute button, and start.

Every time he would impatiently pace up and down in front of the microwave; this was one minute of his life wasted. One minute wasted! How things would add up! Reheating twice a day meant two minutes wasted a day. That was almost quarter of an hour a week. Multiply that by the number of weeks in a year and it would come to thirteen hours. In round numbers that was one whole day wasted every two years. In a decade that would be five days. In fifty years it would amount to a month or so.

How he would appreciate that extra month at the end of his life! “Hey!” said God. “You didn’t waste two minutes a day reheating your coffee. You drank your coffee cold. You saved a month! Here’s that extra month tacked onto the end of your life!”

Time went by. The end was near. Lloyd lay on his hospital bed wracked with bone cancer. The pain was excruciating. Things dragged on for an extra month.

1468. Jingle all the way

Whenever Clive reheated something in the microwave he would burst out singing at the top of his voice, “JINGLE ALL THE WAY”. Quite frankly, it drove Eustacia crazy. Eustacia was his wife.

There he goes again! The microwave has just beeped finish and off he goes. JINGLE ALL THE WAY.

“Why do you always sing JINGLE ALL THE WAY when the microwave finishes?” asked Eustacia.

“It’s pretty obvious,” said Clive. “It’s easy enough to work out why.” That annoyed Eustacia even more. Not only did he sing something meaningless, but he accused her of stupidity for not knowing why.

And then it struck her. How obvious it was. When the microwave finished it went:

Beep beep beep
Beep beep beep.

That was:

Jingle bells
Jingle bells.

JINGLE ALL THE WAY sang Clive.

Now it really drove Eustacia nuts. She couldn’t use the microwave without hearing Jingle Bells.

990. When this generation gets old

Don’t think that when the clever boys and girls of today get old, that they will have lost their ability to be clever.

Way down the track, miles from hence, Granny Boyle was angry; real angry. Some upstart-little-technological-savvy twerp had thought it fun to digitally go into the innards of Granny’s microwave’s electronics, and with the push of a button on a cell phone, make Granny’s microwave explode. Just as Granddad was using it. It killed him. Granny Boyle wasn’t simply sad; she was furious.

Getting her own cell phone, she started pressing numbers. Tap tap tap. Click click click. She pressed the final button.

“Hopefully,” said Granny, “that will have exploded the technological-savvy twerp’s phone and blown their head off.”

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