As a man of science, you think I’d be comfortable with a microwave, a device handy for exciting my molecules.
I placed my mug of cold coffee in the microwave and closed the door. Using my trusty slide rule I calculated the optimum time. As the seconds ticked down I watched through the meshy window just in case things came to a boil.
Thankfully they did not.
The microwave chirped a friendly beep beep beep so I opened the door and took out the mug. I examined the dark fluid closely.
All seemed well. I stroked my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a flat calm.”
I put the mug on the counter, ensconced the sugar bowl in my loving arms and cued up a teaspoon of sweet heavenly goodness.
As the sugar cascaded into the mug it exploded I was knocked on my ass by a shock wave of exactly 1.21 gigawatts. Covered in burning liquid, I staggered to my feet. Only a crater remained where my mug had been moments before.
I realized I was crying. “Hot water burn baby!!!” I yelled.
Experts later determined the blast was equivalent t .42% of the nuclear device set off my North Korea just last week. So I’m in good company.
Meanwhile, my slide rule has been pressed into service calculating of javanistic meteorological phenomenon. I do enjoy using the old bean.
My latest theory pertains to coffee temporal mechanics. I stumbled upon my hypothesis purely by chance.
I have a set of favorite mugs, all identical, and extremely thick. The likes of which you need see in diners any more. Through trial and error I know the exact amount of time in the microwave to produce satisfactory heat without causing the contents of the mug to go nuclear and coat the inside of the microwave with my tasty drink.
The other day, however, none of the set of four mugs were available. They were all dirty. I was forced to improvise. Aha! There, on the shelf, sat my second favorite mug, the one with a kitty cat design. Coffee just tastes better when it comes from a kitty cat mug.
Being smart, I determined that I would have to proceed with caution. I don’t know the precise times for heating coffee in this vessel, so I reduced standard cooking time by 10 percent. I figured this would give me margin of error of +/- three percent.
Cooking went well. After the beep, I opened the door and peered in cautiously. It had worked! I saw steam but no spillage. Perfect! And, still using the big brain, I would careful when adding my sweetener.
Feeling completely satisfied and smug, I reached out and grasped the mug and began to bring it towards me.
Right after the mug had cleared the lip of the microwave, however, my fingers began issuing an emergency distress call. This was transmitted via subspace to my brain, which was a whopping 2 milliseconds away.
Of course, by then, the fingerprints were already sufficiently burned away to make me more than ready to assist me in being a world-class criminal extraordinaire.
The handle of that mug was now approx. 500 kelvins and my fingers were holding on for dear life.
Realizing that my digits were on fire, I now faced a moment of choice. I could release the source of my pain which most likely would not turn out good due to the force of gravity. Or I could man up and set the thing on the counter before dancing around like a chicken on a hot plate.
I chose the latter course of action. It felt like an eternity. It’s amazing how many times you can call yourself a dumb ass in such a short period of time.
Finally, it was all over. The whole event from start to finish had lasted four milliseconds. And there I stood in the kitchen, again, crying and yelling, “Hot water burn baby!!!”
Oh yeah. I had forgotten one wee detail in my planning. The handle on the kitty cat mug always gets too hot in the microwave which is why we never use it for that purpose.
I hope you all realize that typing this post caused my burned little finger a lot of pain.
More details with ongoing coffee experiments will be documented here by this scientist as they become available. Please feel free to conduct all the peer research you can in an attempt to replicate my findings.
I hope she who should not be called Mrs. Abyss kissed it all better…after she was done rolling around on the floor in laughter, of course.
For some strange reason she has little patience when it comes to my boo boos.