I am early when I knock gently on the door. The door slowly swings open, glass smoky from years of use, and a voice coughs out, “Whatyouwant?” I have to say that I am taken aback, perhaps even slightly scared, but I power on.

ME: “Hi, I’m here for the interview?”

MICROWAVE: “Oh. Yeah. Take a seat.” Smoke billows, I’m not quite sure from where. “You’re with that council?”

ME: “I am not with any council, I just wanted to hear your opinion on the throwing out of ancient kitchen appliances.”

MICROWAVE: … They offer no comment. A small fire starts on the glass plate

ME: “Right! Well! Not saying that you’re ancient of course!” At this point, I genuinely fear for my life. It will not be the first time in this five minute interview.  “I was just wondering, do you have a retirement plan?”

MICROWAVE: “A retirement plan?” They break off, wheezing until a curious ding sounds. “Oh no, lass, no retirement plan for me. I’ll be working when I’m dead, that’s for sure.”

I am unsure what this means, but they seem to be glowing red ever so slightly so I don’t ask any follow-up questions, changing to a different line of questioning

ME: “Tell me about your style, the cameras must love you!”

MICROWAVE: “It’s vintage, you see.” They cough, sending a shower of rusty fragments in my direction. I try not to breathe them in. “Classic, sleek. Dial me up and it’s all over in a few seconds.” I am unsure as to whether this is a good thing.

MICROWAVE: “These young people nowadays, so concerned with laws and safety. Where’s the paint? Where’s the danger? That’s what I wanna know. How else are folks supposed to keep on their toes?”

ME: “I see. And, um, that’s pretty much it for the interview, d’you mind if I head out now?”

They continue ranting and suddenly offer to make me a cup of tea, but I decline. A fire starts and I run.

I’d rather be dead than drink tea made in a microwave.