My friend Gus, at whose house my little brother & I passed most of our summer days in 1981, was the first person I met whose family owned a microwave oven. I can't tell you much about it, but if I google "1981 microwave," this is the image that comes up:
(I found the image here.)
Not as gigantic as I might have imagined - I suppose I thought microwaves were like televisions & radios, their early models being enormous - but truly a wonder. Gus would make us nachos - meaning he melted cheese on tortilla chips - it was something I couldn't have imagined one could do at home. (& we must've eaten too many of them - at some point he told us sheepishly his mom wouldn't allow him to make nachos any more.)
But here's the memory I wanted to tell: because I was such a comic book nerd, & because in every Marvel comic, the heroes get their powers from radiation, I toyed with the idea of turning the microwave on, opening the door, & bathing myself in the mysterious heat rays within. I never did it, of course. For two reasons: one, I was afraid; & two, microwaves, of course, turn off when you open the door. It's a standard safety feature.
What was I afraid of? Well, getting burned, of course. Plus, Marvel comics also had stories about people trying to replicate the ways that superheroes got their powers & being deformed - or worse, turned evil! - by the attempt.
Anyway, that's dumb, funny memory from 1981, my last I hope. What a dumb kid I was. Thirteen years old! & still daydreaming about super powers.
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