Microwave of Death

We had a microwave. It was awesome.

We had opted for the brushed aluminum look, seeing as how it was modern and utilitarian, and gave the kitchen a more "aggressive" feel... "It's like it's tearin' ass around the kitchen.. but it's standing still!" kinda thing. Sweet little puppy...



Anywho. It worked great, no problems, with the possible exception of getting covered with fingerprints the second it was unwrapped... (who'd a thunk?)

One day, not too long ago, I exited the elevator to the smell of burning. Not a faint smell, but one that makes you wonder if you should have taken the elevator in the first place,- and where the nearest exit is. So I walked towards my apartment, hoping to find a haven from the smell. That, however, was not to be, as I opened the door to be confronted by a wall of scent that can only be described as black burning. Fearing the worst, I quickly kicked off my shoes and scurried towards the kitchen, phone in hand, ready to call the fire department. What should I see there but Adam, feverishly cleaning said microwave, sweat dripping off of his brow. "What happened?" I queried. "Uh.... Popcorn.... Microwave... uh... fire...." I left the room, shaking my head, grinning. Knowing Adam's gift of gab, getting a new microwave would be no problem... The only thing concerning me was how in hell do you combust microwave popcorn?
Your guess is as good as mine.

Well, in the aftermath, we got a new microwave today, (no pic available) and it seems that things turned out for the better, because the new magic oven is actually quite a bit better than our previous one, having been a brand new discounted floor model. I have yet to test it, but something tells me that were history to repeat itself, this one would take the apartment down with it.