A Word Picture

I need a new freezer. I would show you a picture of why, but I'm too nice for that. Instead, I will describe the crime scene in all its bloody detail.

Picture if you will a trip down to the basement. You go down there and see an upright freezer standing there seemingly minding its own business. You look again. That innocent freezer now looks suspicious. Are those bungee cords wrapped around it? Is one attached to the nearby filing cabinet? Is one secured to a pipe of unknown origin and destination?

Let's unhook the bungees for a moment, shall we? Oh no! Watch out! The door pops open all by itself, frozen food cascading down onto the floor. On your bare feet. You didn't come down here to this basement barefooted did you? You should have known better than that.

You clear away the fallen frozen food and make a mental note that you are thankful that food is still frozen. Then a tingle of fear runs through your body. You slowly glance up and notice that the unthinkable has once again happened: the top shelf has decided to defrost your food for you, and you have no idea how long it's been since you last paid your dues to this friend who has now forsaken you.

Your face takes on the appearance of a grown-up pout as you realize that some of the food that has defrosted is from your expensive grass-fed cow. And hog. And one of the freezer meals you got at the last freezer meal exchange. You think for a long five minutes about cooking it all up regardless, but then you rethink that and figure an ER visit is much more expensive than one lost shelf of meat.

You look again in confusion at the weird icicles that appear to be formed from a mixture of frost and blood hanging down from that shelf. You wonder vaguely how you are going to clean up that mess, because the other four shelves are crammed full of random packages of frozen meat and you have no other place to put them.

You remain thankful it was just one shelf. You note in consternation that this same shelf that can't seem to keep food frozen is the one in which Mt. Everest is attempting to clone itself.

You sigh and shut the door. Except that it won't shut, so you find yourself digging around for something that will hold it shut. You spy three bungee cords. You attempt to wrap them around the freezer, except they won't go. You attach one to the filing cabinet to the right and the other to a random pipe behind. And you hope to heaven nobody else attempts to open it without you down there micromanaging the whole process.

You run upstairs and begin to beg on Twitter for any random appliance PR rep to show mercy on you and offer to bring you a new one, right now – a new freezer for which neither bungee cords nor crampons are necessary. You put your next major grass-fed cow purchase on hold and plan to eat exclusively from the lower shelves of the freezer for the next three weeks.

And you wait to see what kind of miracle happens this time.