Life is all about perspective. Perspective is that wonderful alchemy that turns a completely mortifying experience into something amazingly funny a couple days later. (It’s also what makes the experience mortifying to you and funny to everyone else while it’s happening, but I digress.)

So, depending on your perspective, this past Thursday I either came close to burning the entire Z88.3 studio building down, or I saved us all from future certain death by fire and asphyxiation by proving our toaster oven was an evil menace that needed to go. Take your pick.

I just wanted to heat up some garlic bread. But minutes later, as I am happily eating my leftover pasta, I hear a voice down the hall scream, “Something’s burning. Something’s really burning!” A million horrible images rushed through my mind as I ran to the kitchen and a toaster oven pouring smoke out into the halls.

My poor toast never had a chance. It didn’t quite get to flaming stage, but it was pretty darn close. Like, a smoldering piece of something very black that vaguely resembled toast stage.

Anyway, one of the engineers grabbed a fan to air everything out, and the halls had a nice smoky smell the rest of the afternoon, but other than that, the only injuries were my pride and the toaster oven. Alas, this isn’t the first time our sad little oven did something scary, so… let’s just say, it’s being put out to pasture.

Probably the best part was my boss looking at me, smiling, shaking his head, and saying, “How… am I supposed to marry you off if you can’t cook?”

Good question. I’d like to believe that there’s something remarkably cute and endearing about burning bread all the time. A feminine charm, if you will. Or something like that.

Moral of the story: Toaster ovens are evil. Watch them like a hawk, lest they betray you.