The Microwave

I think it must have been about 1992, 25 years after the first microwave was released, my parents loaded the family into the car to change how life at home would run for the rest of our lives.

We headed into the darkness, and eventually turned onto the long driveway of some family friends. I have no idea what price was paid, but my dad loaded a hulking microwave oven into the back of the car. Included with the oven was a bag of microwave popcorn, and we drove back to our house, excitement about the new appliance thick in the car.

My dad carried in the giant brown box with a large window and formidable dial into the kitchen. The height of the unit slid just barely beneath the cabinetry, and was nestled into a corner, decreasing the available counter space in the small kitchen significantly. The family dog, still in her formative years, could sense the excitement, and gathered with the family in the kitchen, braving the treacherous footing of the linoleum. My mom opened the plastic of the individually wrapped flat, folded bag of popping corn, the smell of butter filling the kitchen, like a manifestation of the anticipation itself.

Instructions were diligently read from the bag, and the microwave settings were validated, the timer set, door opened, and the bag placed in the center of a serving platter-sized carousel, ensuring the correct side was down. Then the moment arrived, the chrome “push to cook” button was pushed for the first time in an Aillaud household. The oven hummed to life, and the bag began its slow rotation in the illuminated chamber.

Nothing happened.

Like kids waiting for Santa, the seconds dragged on. With tail poised to wag, the dog watched us watch the microwave.

Pop!

The shock of the noise echoed through the house. My mom exclaimed about the magic of popping corn in such a futuristic way. The time between pops decreased, until a cacophony of exploding kernels overwhelmed the house, now brimming with the chemical smell of movie theater popcorn. In a mirrored crescendo, the popping from the now bursting bag slowed. Not having realized the insignificance of pushing the start button, the true moment in which our lives forever changed rang through the house.

Ding!

With as much suspicion as excitement, the steaming bag was removed from the microwave, an intruder into our family's lives that may not be fully welcome. The popcorn was distributed into over sized plastic cups saved from stops at McDonald's on the way home from Fairbanks. Even the anxious dog was served a share in a bowl. We all agreed that it was amazing to have popcorn as a treat of near instant gratification.

My parents had it repaired over buying a new one when it faltered in the mid-90s, and it lasted into the late 2000s. A microwave has been in my kitchen ever since, but sometimes I am reminded of the excitement of the night we got that first microwave. I have attempted to share this memory with others, but I generally have to find an older generation to appreciate the memory.  I know I was not alone in my amazement at the late arrival of the microwave that evening, as until her dying day, the family dog regarded the smell of butter flavor and the ding of the microwave as an indication of shared popcorn.