Tea-towel paranoia
Today I went into the kitchen. I discovered that the top of the grill has been indelibly marked, tattooed, with a remarkable image.
When I was a kid I used to get the packets of potato chips and shrink them in the oven. It was fun, it stank like cancer and produced miniature replicas of the original packets. You had to be dead careful not to get the oven too hot or everything would melt and catch fire and that would be a diabolical catastrophe. It was an art and needed vigilant supervision.
Today I see that the grill has the perfect reversed image of a bread bag. I can read the mirror image details of a competition to win some piece of shit, the bar code, the energy information per serving and the ingredients. The image is so good that it can't be an accident. I mean seriously... I spent five minutes casually dropping a loaf of bread on the bench and slowly lifting it up as I peered underneath to see if it is feasible to accidentally get the plastic perfectly flat underneath. I can't fucking do it.
But some malignant prick living in the Habitat can. Somehow the bread got perfectly placed on top of the grill so that the bag was flat on the top. Then that same malignant prick fires up the grill. And watches. And vigilantly fucking supervises. As the image is perfectly transferred from the bag to the top of the grill.
An accident? I call bullshit on this theory. After some consideration I have concluded that it is the most unlikely accident. Those bread bags are thin. They are prone to spontaneous fucking combustion. There is no way I can be convinced it's an accident. The bread was accidentally put on the grill in the perfect conformation, basted to perfection, and then taken off the grill at precisely the right moment, seconds before destruction by fire - and the resulting transfer left there - not cleaned off? When it would have been easier to scrub off hot?
But why? To what end would someone do such a thing? I need Sherlock Holmes for this one. There is another clue for those hardened skeptics among you. There is indeed a domestic Moriarty here for me to foil.
Next to the stove was a standard domestic object. It is a small piece of innocent cloth. Irish linen to be precise. It is called a tea-towel in the UK and a dish-towel in the US. It is mine. I brought it to the house. There are two others also in the kitchen, hanging off the oven door handle. They are standard cotton, I think. But mine has now got a six inch scorch with a complete destruction of the fabric amounting to several square inches. Why mine and not the others? Coincidence? Accident?
No, a message... or a threat...
I must be vigilant. They are watching... waiting...
When I was a kid I used to get the packets of potato chips and shrink them in the oven. It was fun, it stank like cancer and produced miniature replicas of the original packets. You had to be dead careful not to get the oven too hot or everything would melt and catch fire and that would be a diabolical catastrophe. It was an art and needed vigilant supervision.
Today I see that the grill has the perfect reversed image of a bread bag. I can read the mirror image details of a competition to win some piece of shit, the bar code, the energy information per serving and the ingredients. The image is so good that it can't be an accident. I mean seriously... I spent five minutes casually dropping a loaf of bread on the bench and slowly lifting it up as I peered underneath to see if it is feasible to accidentally get the plastic perfectly flat underneath. I can't fucking do it.
But some malignant prick living in the Habitat can. Somehow the bread got perfectly placed on top of the grill so that the bag was flat on the top. Then that same malignant prick fires up the grill. And watches. And vigilantly fucking supervises. As the image is perfectly transferred from the bag to the top of the grill.
An accident? I call bullshit on this theory. After some consideration I have concluded that it is the most unlikely accident. Those bread bags are thin. They are prone to spontaneous fucking combustion. There is no way I can be convinced it's an accident. The bread was accidentally put on the grill in the perfect conformation, basted to perfection, and then taken off the grill at precisely the right moment, seconds before destruction by fire - and the resulting transfer left there - not cleaned off? When it would have been easier to scrub off hot?
But why? To what end would someone do such a thing? I need Sherlock Holmes for this one. There is another clue for those hardened skeptics among you. There is indeed a domestic Moriarty here for me to foil.
Next to the stove was a standard domestic object. It is a small piece of innocent cloth. Irish linen to be precise. It is called a tea-towel in the UK and a dish-towel in the US. It is mine. I brought it to the house. There are two others also in the kitchen, hanging off the oven door handle. They are standard cotton, I think. But mine has now got a six inch scorch with a complete destruction of the fabric amounting to several square inches. Why mine and not the others? Coincidence? Accident?
No, a message... or a threat...
I must be vigilant. They are watching... waiting...
posted at 13:37
12 comments
