Back when I was an impressionable college freshman, the faculty-in-residence who lived three doors down from my suite left a toaster oven outside her door. Now, at the time, I was a simple-minded and perhaps naïve 18-year-old suburbanite who had been raised on a toaster and with the idea that a toaster oven was needlessly decadent. We have a toaster, we have an oven; why combine them into one appliance that doesn’t perform either of those tasks better?
Thus it was with confusion and, in the end, indifference that I met my roommate’s excitement about the prospect of claiming the toaster oven—old and dirty and clearly bound for the garbage—in our room. As college freshmen, we possessed neither a toaster nor an oven, and Seth (this roommate’s name was Seth*) proudly detailed all the glorious meals a toaster oven would add to our lives. I was skeptical and, like I said, indifferent.
*Although, to be honest, it may have been the other roommate.
And I remained so even when Seth’s attempt to haul the toaster oven the 15 feet back to our room was interrupted by the RA, citing the prohibition of all toasting apparatuses in freshman dorm rooms. This was a surprising occurrence for several reasons: