Good help is hard to find. And even harder to be related to.
I’m talking about myself, of course, as the not-so-good helper. I’m sure my grandmother wondered what was going on, down in the kitchen. She was upstairs, where she spent most of her time due to limited mobility.
That left me, her granddaughter who was visiting from out of town for a few days, to rummage around in the kitchen for my lunch. I thought I would make some soup. Well, heat up some soup is more like it.
All I had to do was open the can and heat up the contents on the stove. How hard can it be? (I absolutely love that attitude. Optimism at its blindest.)
Step 1: Get the can of soup from the pantry. Check.
Step 2: Plug in the electric can opener. Check.
Step 3: Open can.
Step 3: Open can.
Step 3: Open can. Why won’t this can opener work? All it does is rotate the can around and around and around. The lid is still on. Nothing is open. Not even a tiny slit where anything could leak out of. After four tries, the paper label isn’t torn or even crunched.
I decide that the can is defective in some way. Its shape, maybe, if off-kilter and is preventing the can opener from working. I try another can. Same effort, same result. The rrrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrr of the electric can opener fills the kitchen. Although my grandmother was limited in her mobility, she wasn’t deaf. There’s no way she could have missed the sound of the can opener again and again and again. By then, she probably thought that I’d opened every single can in her pantry. In reality, I hadn’t managed to open even one.
I search for a manual can opener. Nothing doing. I decide to have toast for lunch. Bread, a toaster, butter and a knife. How hard can it be?
This is post #1 of the WordPress postaweek 2011 challenge.
For my posts for the WordPress postaday 2011 challenge, see my Perceptions blog (also on my Links tab).