It didn't look like much at first.
The apartment was small, not much bigger then a dorm or an elongated hotel room.
The immediate impression was of famiarity, but this soon faded to a disconcerting sense of alienation. Things were just off.
There in the corner was a waist high refrigerator, but when opened instead of the faint smell of sour milk and old meat that often lurks in a fridge that's held it's share of leftovers, this one emitted a strange, not entirely unpleasant aroma of old strawberries, shellfish and...was that aloe?
The "kitchen table" was a slab of green painted plywood stuck on a dirty plastic cylinder. There was something that might have been a washing machine, but covered with indecipherable heiroglyphics obscuring it's true function. It could just as easily been a dishwasher or even a fancy sort of toilet.
In the bathroom, the toilet was much more recognizable as such. The porcelain on the inside was stained a pale yellow that matched the dismal light from the one lonely 60 watt bulb hanging over the mirror. On the side, instead of a handle to flush was a bright round chrome button, not unlike on a television quiz show. When you finish your business a decisive slap of that button (That's my Final Answer, Regis!) and the muted whoosh of the water, (not unlike apprehensive audience appliance) carries it all away.
The floors were fairly clean and hardwood, contributing to the effect that this wasn't an apartment room at all, but a hastily constructed stage set, half heartedly approximating homeyness and convenience.
The bed was small and when laid upon, each spring fought to make himself known.
And then...there was the toaster.
Simple in its design...it stood out precisely due to it's drabness. In a room where it took 15 minutes to decipher how to turn on the television, and the stove hissed menacingly when turned on, like a snake waiting for the right moment to strike, or perhaps like a lit fuse ready to blow...there stood the toaster, perfect in it's simple toasterliness.
Plain and white. Two slots (wider than normal maybe, easily accomadating a bagel.) Sure, there was some gibberish written on this too, but who needed them? You just drop in the toast (or bagel) push down the lever and magically, minutes later your toast is browned and crispy and ready for consumption. In this new world of vaguely menacing, exotic appliances, the toaster was like an old friend, who had arrived before me, and already settled in. With its assurance of crispy carbohydrates and companionship, I realized, if that little toaster could manage here, maybe I could too.
Maybe everything would be ok. I would survive here. Perhaps even thrive. With my own talents, and by sticking to what I knew best and what I did best, just like that toaster, I could find use here. The toaster did not compromise, nor would I. It would be my inspiration, my beacon, my standard bearer.
Then, it started to bleed.....
(to be continued)
