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?