So, I get up to go to the bathroom last night. I don’t know what time it is. Anyway, I open the bedroom door and all I can hear is BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!...
Not the smoke alarm. Not nearly loud enough.
Not the low battery warning on my phone. Too loud.
So. What is it? Am I dreaming? I walk around the house like a zombie.
Then, no, I’m not dreaming. It’s the stove. It managed to get itself worked up about something, all by itself. Maybe a bad dream or something and it’s flashing: “F11. Error!”
F11 Error.
How could there be an error? I didn’t DO anything. I was in bed! And Michelle is sawing logs in there. How could there possibly be an error?!?! Error implies action and reaction.
Awwwwww!!! Ca mon!!!!!
I start poking things. Poke, poke, poke.
Poke the bake button. Nothing. Poke the timer. Nothing. Poke the light switch. Nada.
Poke Cancel. Silence.
Aha.
I listen to the quiet. Just a few little cricks and cracks of the house settling. After 60 years. Still settling in. I know the feeling.
Anyway, I check the thing again just before going back to bed. “You’re a pretty good stove,” I tell it. “Even though you’re a ceramic cooktop. You can’t help it. You were made that way. I was made this way. You’re all right. I don’t care what anybody says.”
But my mind was made up long ago. You can’t keep those things clean. You can’t get the temperature just right. I’m going back to coils next time. If there is a next time. If I’m still around in 15 years.
“Now go back to bed,” I say.
I myself go back to bed and, miraculously(!) back to sleep. But in my sleep I am dreaming that there is a slot for credit cards in the stove now. And people have been using credit cards in there, my credit cards. Gotta be symbolic somehow.
I toss. I turn.
Anyway, the next thing it’s bright out and Michelle is telling me that the stove is beeping and there’s a sign on it that says ‘F11 Error!’ “You better see what’s up. Maybe try hitting the power. Might work.”
I zombie down the stairs to the basement. Hit the power. Go read the manual.
“What’s the book say?” Michelle asks.
“It says turn off the power for 5 minutes.”
“Told ja!”
I turn the power back on; the thing starts beeping again. And no cancel-button this time.
I’m almost glad.
So. No fooling around, I go onto YouTube, and long story short, I get this marvelous video. How to gut your stove and put it back together again the easy way.
All you need is... And for once in my life! I have everything!
Good old YouTube, telling everybody how to fix their broken stuff. This one? Too much glue in the manufacture. The keypads start sticking. You get at the keypad thing and pat it down with an alcohol wipe. Which I did, and voila! It actually works!
Everything except the number THREE on the keypad. Tap it all you want. Nothing.
Which, in the realm of baking or roasting, is... well... 299 isn’t hot enough and 400 incinerates everything. 350 is kind of your zone.
Wait. Maybe try 299 for an extra 45 minutes? Or 400 for 20 minutes less?
I run that by Michelle. She passes me the yellow pages.
No way! Maybe time will work. Just give it a half hour. Poke the THREE. Nothing. Give it a day. Poke the THREE.
Yeah, time never worked on my ’67 Ford Galaxy convertible either. Ever.
Hey. Take care out there, eh?
(Afterward: The columnist went back in, with success. Problem? Too many parts. Wires. And who needs a convection fan anyway?)
(Seriously. Who needs one?)
Mike Finigan, from Glace Bay, is a freelance writer now living in Sydney River. He can be contacted at [email protected].
