8:49 AM - day 07 - week 41 - year 2080
Intending on feasting on waffles
, I stepped groggily into my kitchen
. Well, I stepped groggily into what used to be called a kitchen, before these new appliances came out and before people stopped making their own food. Over to the left
was the instant newspaper receiver, which I turned on
. The newspaper slid out smoothly from the bottom slot, freshly printed and still warm. I carried this to the meal builder, set it to 'BREAKFAST'
, and stared blankly at the shiny, silvery, fridge-shaped device. There were around fifty clear plastic buttons on the face of my Food Fabricator
, each one creating a different meal. The dial at the top decides whether you will be having a dish typically served for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I can never remember what each button makes, and there aren't any visible labels. Damn it, which one is waffles?
9:02 AM -
I had to look everywhere, but I found the manual in my closet, and flipped to pages 203 and 204: Selecting Your Meal. Apparently, waffles is located at button D7. I tried feebly to memorize that particular coordinate as I replaced the book.
9:04 AM -
Upon returning to the kitchen, I approached the coffee machine, which remain largely unchanged in appearance since the 1990's. About a decade ago, coffee started becoming available on tap in households everywhere. The coffee comes out of the machine hot, but not too fresh. It doesn't matter to me. With my mug of coffee I turn to the Food Fabricator, ready for my waffles. The Food Fabricator was not there. I stood baffled at the vacant space. How could a 7 foot tall steel box just get up and leave? And why?
9:18 AM -
I finished my coffee without touching the newspaper. My eyes never left that empty spot. I got up to see if any doors or windows had been broken, but none had. In fact, every door was locked. I was walking up the basement stairs when I stepped on something considerably un-stairlike. It made an oozing squelch and my foot slid off the steps, throwing me off balance. I flailed my arms, just barely gripping the banister before plummeting off the precarious steps. Catching my breath, I look to the floor to see what I had stepped in. It was a crepe.
9:55 AM -
Upstairs, I dropped the trodden-on crepe into a trash receptacle and switched on the television. At least, I pressed the Power button, but the TV never came on. I walked over to the wall to lightly tap the screen, and the glass fell right off. The entire TV was stuffed with steaming scrambled eggs, dripping and flopping on the wires and tubes. I backed away, becoming wary of my surroundings. It was more breakfast, first attempting murder, this time sabotaging my possessions. The Food Fabricator was still in the house.
10:01 AM -
In my room, I sat at my desk and pondered. The Fabricator had wheels, but I had never seen it move willingly. In fact, it had never done anything typical of sentient mechanical murderers. Why was it trying to kill me today? More importantly, why before breakfast? I was becoming increasingly impatient and hungry. One way or another, I was getting those waffles.
10:45 AM -
Here was the plan: I would find my Food Fabricator, beat it into submission with a baseball bat, and pry my waffles from its cold, dead gut. Screaming and wild-eyed, I burst into the hall, bat at the ready. Nothing there. I tried rushing towards the kitchen, but my feet were firmly stuck to the tiles. I was standing in some sort of syrup and honey adhesive concoction! I tugged frantically at my feet, but it was useless. There was nothing I could do, so I sank slowly to the ground, sitting in a relatively non-stick area, and waited for my executioner.
5:40 PM -
For seven hours I sat there in my bathrobe and pajamas, thinking of ways to defeat this indomitable goo. I was considering spitting at it to dilute the mixture when finally I heard it. Squeaking wheels and the hum of a machine. Standing triumphantly at the end of the corridor was my Food Fabricator. The lower front panel had been unscrewed, revealing swinging knives, cleavers, sizzling pans, violently rotating whisks, blenders, and all sorts of culinary devices-turned-nightmares. It approached viciously slowly, tiny wheels turning once a minute. My mind raced, but I was mesmerized. Glinting blades. Finally I couldn't take it, and I wouldn't go down without a fight. My single heroic bat blow bent away the flimsy panel near the top, exposing a bundle of wires and circuits. This was my only chance to destroy the monster, and I took it. With a desperate wrench, the wires came free and drooped into the revolving blender blades below. The Food Fabricator ripped itself apart scarcely an inch from my cringing face. With a groan and a last pathetic knife slash, it collapsed. Like a miracle, delicious waffles tumbled out of the food storage compartment in the back, and I fell into them, crying with relief, thankfulness, and waffle-lust.