After another long day of work all I wanted when I got home were some delicious Tysons chicken fingers. I’d already eaten some salmon at work, which the magazine bought, but not nearly enough to satisfy my freakish appetite. Cooking the chicken fingers is simple enough: Turn on oven, open bag, stick food in oven, wait 20 minutes. Two minutes after I did this, my smoke detector began wailing. Living in a studio apartment, my smoke detector picks up everything. I can’t even sneeze without setting the damn thing off. I opened a few windows and turned on the exhaust fan, which is not above the stove – oh no – but beside the refrigerator, which is on the adjacent wall – on the adjacent wall!
(This is more than can be said for my bathroom. A 5x5 room with no windows and no fan. It’s like a bank vault in there. Nothing escapes – nothing! Sometimes I need an oxygen tank just to use the bathroom -- especially after any meal from Chipotle. Good lord. They should make toilets with built-in stirrups.)
Anyway, so I took the only chair in my apartment and tried to turn off the super annoying smoke detector. Oh, and this chair is on wheels. Finally, after spinning and twirling and stretching to finally reach the detector, because the chair is just 3 inches too short, (story of my life) I finally disable it and my kitchen timer begins to yell at me cause my chicken fingers are done and have been for minutes. Jesus.
The worst thing is that the chicken fingers were the only food left in my fridge. So when I get home tomorrow at 10 p.m., and all the grocery stores are closed, I’ll scour my fridge only to find baking soda and six different kinds of salad dressing. I wonder if I can find a recipe for a baking soda casserole with a ranch dressing glaze.
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