Adventures in German Appliances: Part One

It’s funny how being in another country forces you to relearn the most basic of tasks and ways of doing things. You spend most of your day at the UN trying to convince yourself that you are a smart, talented, and competent individual, only to be taken down later by a microwave or washing machine. It’s a humbling moment when two Berkeley brains can’t figure out how to start a load of laundry.

Some of the greatest challenges we’ve faced in our time here have been in conducting simple activities that are a part of everyday life. Back home, for example, I would often bring my lunch to work and heat it up in the microwave. Seems easy enough, right? Oh no, not so fast grasshopper.

Bringing your lunch to work here is uncommon, since most people go to the cafeteria for food. As Todd and I have discovered (and which will be featured in a later post), going to the UN cafeteria is sort of like gastronomic roulette – and Todd in particular is a regular victim. So for reasons of money, flavour, and waistline, I’ve been trying to bring my lunch to work at least twice a week.

Which brings me to the issue of the microwave. Going into our floor’s kitchen (which feels like a cross between a bathroom and a dungeon) the microwave is situated beside the refrigerator, and only one outlet exists – meaning that if you want to microwave something, you have to unplug the refrigerator in order to plug in the microwave. It’s a minor inconvenience, but as a result you have to bend down to the ground and duck under a table to unplug one appliance and then plug in another. This is hard to do gracefully, particularly in a skirt. Since I seem to have a talent for being walked in on while in compromising or embarrassing situations, I’m just waiting for someone like the Distinguished Ambassador from Japan to saunter in while I have my butt in the air, trying to plug in an appliance.

Once I’ve managed to plug in the microwave without flashing the entire diplomatic world, I have to actually get to the task of heating my food. Unlike microwaves in the US, which come with numbered keypads that allow you to easily select the amount of time you would like to heat your food, German microwaves utilize a series of knobs that you turn in a seemingly random order if you wish to heat your food. From what I gather from the pictures, one knob allows you to select what you are cooking. However, the pictures are so vague that you’re not entirely sure what you’ve selected. One time I turned the knob a few times and picked a square with squiggles, and I think it tried to defrost my not-frozen lunch. Another time I picked what looked like a drumstick, and I thought my lunch might explode.

After you have selected your picture with the first knob, you move to the second knob, which based on the picture you selected, auto-populates a specific time and -- I think-- temperature. In a most German fashion, you must accept the time given to you (nay, you should be grateful that it gave you a heating time at all), or else the microwave starts beeping loudly and seemingly without end.

You consult the German-English pocket dictionary you brought with you and realize that it doesn’t provide you with German microwave etiquette. Slight panic ensues. The microwave is still beeping, and it will soon draw a crowd if you can’t get it to stop (hey, maybe you will have a chance to flash the Ambassador from Japan after all!). You begin to swear in German (because of course those are the German words you have no problem mastering), thinking that perhaps if you speak the microwave’s native language it will truly understand the frustration it brings you. Finally, you resort to frantically pushing buttons and hope that the microwave will stop beeping and just heat your damn lunch, which at this point you don’t really care about because all you want is a stiff drink. Then, miracle of miracles: The microwave starts working. Fifty seconds later your lunch comes out practically glowing and you think, “Gosh am I glad I brought my lunch. This is so much better than eating the food in the cafeteria.”

With radioactive Wiener schnitzel in hand, it’s time to unplug the microwave and plug the fridge back in with something resembling grace. As you leave the kitchen and head towards the cafeteria, you try to tell yourself what a responsible adult you are for bringing your lunch, but your thoughts drift away at the sight of the UN Bar.