Please do not hassle me about my therapy toaster

No, this isn’t a “toaster” I’m holding on my lap. It is my therapy toaster, and, no, I will not put it in the overhead compartment, because that would clearly defeat the purpose of bringing my therapy toaster onto this airplane. If I store the therapy toaster, it would no longer be soothing my anxieties. It would be luggage, and luggage never soothed anyone.

Yes, I do plan to hold this therapy toaster on my lap for the duration of the flight. Do you think I would entrust my therapy toaster with a stranger? They don’t know the settings! They’ve probably never used a “defrost” button in their lives! They’d have no clue how to properly empty the crumb tray!

Oh, you mean, will I be putting it away during take-off and landing. No, I won’t be doing that either. Trust me, if there’s turbulence, my therapy toaster won’t be a hazard to other passengers because I will be clinging to the thing for dear life.

My, you’re full of questions about my therapy toaster, aren’t you! I’m glad, because this gives me a chance to speak to you about my requirements. I need you to accommodate my special needs by finding an electrical outlet for me. To plug in my therapy toaster, obviously. It’s not a therapy toaster if it doesn’t toast! Duh!

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say “Duh!” That’s the cold toaster talking. I’m afraid I’m going to need my therapy toaster operational as soon as possible. I’m beginning to feel somewhat antsy, or it might just be my socks won’t stop sliding down to my ankles. Either way, I’m slightly uncomfortable, and that violates my right to unconditional bliss at all times.

So if you would just run this 20-foot extension cord down the aisle to the nearest outlet, that would be wonderful. If it’s not long enough, I’m sure someone would be willing to switch seats with me, once you explain to them the nature of my condition. Unless they’re ignorant.

Now I’m starting to feel less glad about your questions. In fact, I feel you are being highly insensitive and possibly racist. Yes, racist – you clearly prefer white bread to stay white.

I will calm down. That’s what the therapy toaster is for, obviously.

There is so such a thing as a therapy toaster. You’re looking at it.

Fine: here’s the paperwork demonstrating that my toaster is a certified therapy toaster.

There is so such a thing as “The Black and Decker Institute.”

How dare you suggest I printed this myself using Microsoft Publisher templates! Does Publisher laminate? No. This is laminated. Professionally!

What makes it a therapy toaster? It makes perfect toast. Don’t scoff! Never underestimate the power of perfect toast – not too dark, not too light, crispy, but no sharp edges that cut the roof of your mouth. I’m calming down just thinking about it.

This toaster has gone through months of testing to be perfectly calibrated for maximum toasting satisfaction, with options for various breadstuffs. Most days, I just need toast, but bad days are bagel days. And I can count on my therapy toaster to be there. Believe me, I’ve been frustrated by toasters in the past, toasters you don’t dare turn your back on.

And here is my card stating that I am entitled to have my therapy toaster with me at all times, including in the workplace, at restaurants and on public transportation, but not in the bathtub.

Who diagnosed me? I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s any of your business. I would appreciate if you would respect my privacy. And I wish everyone around me on this plane who has never known what its like to live with psychological needs that I certainly don’t need a “doctor” to “diagnose” – I wish everyone would stop staring at me and think about how lucky they are not to need a therapy toaster in their lives.

What do you mean it might as well be a therapy waffle maker? Don’t be ridiculous: hinges are highly stress-inducing.

No, this is my therapy toaster, and I would appreciate it if you would show a little sensitivity to my otherness from your position of privilege.

Also: could you get me some English muffins?

About rossmurray1

I'm Canadian so I pronounce it "Aboot." No, I don't! I don't know any Canadian who says "aboot." Damnable lies! But I do know this Canadian is all about humour (with a U) and satire. Come by. I don't bite, or as we Canadians say, "beet."
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19 Responses to Please do not hassle me about my therapy toaster

  1. Thank you, I’m feeling much better this morning since I read your post. I feel…relatively sane, by comparison, that’s it. 🙂 Thanks for that and making us laugh!
    A warning label from my collection of air sickness bags: “Your portable electronic toasting devices must be set to ‘airplane’ mode until an announcement is made upon arrival. Thank you. We remind you that this is a non-smoking bread flight. Thank you. Burnt or smoking bread is prohibited on the entire aircraft, including the lavatories. Thank you. Tampering with, disabling or destroying the lavatory smoke detectors is prohibited by law, as is getting crumbs, particularly of the pumpernickel variety, and/or grape jelly on the toilet seat. No thanks required.”

  2. ksbeth says:

    i’m still in my waffle iron phase, not as highly advanced as you are. impressive.

  3. Donald Trump has a pet microwave. Maybe you two should meet.

  4. List of X says:

    Thankfully, airlines are much more tolerant of my stress-relieving smartphone.

  5. See, here’s the thing. There are people who have actually fallen in love with objects. There’s a documentary out there about a woman who fell in love with, and married, the Eiffel Tower and another who fell in love with a bridge. At least a toaster is manageable. You can take a toaster out to dinner or a ball game. What are you going to do with a BRIDGE, for chrissakes? That’s just stupid.

  6. This sounds like it was inspired by a flight alongside a bunch of whiny Americans…you know, the east coast ones. (I’m from that part of the world, so I can say such things.)

  7. Ross, I’ve gained a lot of respect for you over the years. Your writing is usually funny and even inspiring.

    This post, however, is not. In fact, it’s deeply disappointing. My heart sank when I read it. I barely made it through to the end and when I got there, I was crying.

    In a time when so many individuals are waging invisible battles against mental illness, who keep little, guttering flames of hope alive that their family and community will finally stop scapegoating them for a condition they did not ask for, nor bring upon themselves, who are desperate to simply make it through another day without anyone finding out how much their world is burning them from the inside out, for you to make their struggle the convenient butt of a cheap joke is…well, it’s sick.

    I’m simply gobsmacked, I would have never believed you could write something like this.

  8. byebyebeer says:

    But not in the bathtub, haha. Brilliant piece.

  9. Pingback: How The Last Jedi made me a little less stupid | Drinking Tips for Teens

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