Toaster

“Hey, your toast is ready.”

George looked up from his computer screen in confusion. His studio apartment was not the easiest to hide in. He didn’t have a roommate to play pranks on him. So far as he knew he was alone.

“Who’s there?” George asked, looking around perplexedly.

“You gonna come get your toast before it gets cold?”

The voice was chipper, almost to the point of being too happy. George looked around again for anyone somehow hiding. Not that he had heard his very squeaky front door open since he had gotten home last night. But someone other than him was speaking.

He looked over at his toaster. It had definitely popped up. He got up, went over to his kitchen area, and put it on a plate.

“If you don’t butter it now, then it won’t melt.”

This time, the voice was right next to him. He looked around a small twinge of panic. Still seeing no one. Then he looked at his toaster. His face reflected back at him in the silver finish. It reminded him that his blonde hair needed a trim. Then his reflection smiled at him.

“You want to toast another piece of bread? One doesn’t really seem like enough, but I’m only a one slice toaster,” it said.

George stared at his reflection. His blue eyes got large and his jaw felt like it bounced off the floor twice as he is reflection winked at him. He tried to remember if his friends had made anything with their wild foraged mushrooms last night. They hadn’t mentioned it at all and they were pretty proud of their mushroom foraging skills.

“Are you my toaster talking to me?” he asked.

“I sure am. I just sort of woke up this morning when you put your piece of bread in me and told you when it finished instead of just going ‘pop.’ It just seemed like a nicer way to tell you it was done. You seemed too into your game to really notice a little pop.”

“What do you mean, you woke up this morning? You’re an inanimate object. At least I thought you were,” George said.

“I’m not really sure. I just sort of woke up.”

George thought back to a few minutes ago when he popped the bread into the toaster. He seemed to remember there was a power surge of some sort and he had pressed the lever twice as it popped up right away without toasting the first time. He had thought nothing of it then, other than being glad he hadn’t turned his computer on yet.

“What do you remember before waking up?”

“I kind of remember flying through space for endless time, or maybe it was just a blink. I’m not sure yet. My deeper thoughts and memories are jumbled just now. So I thought I’d concentrate on the toast.”

“You remember nothing else? A past life, being murdered or killed somehow?”

Somehow, the thought of having a possessed toaster was more logical and comforting than one that suddenly became self-aware. Maybe he should check the NASA website for solar flare activity or see if the earth was going through the tail of some strange comet. Still, no other appliance seemed to be affected, and this one wasn’t trying to kill him yet.

“There ware too quick flashes of thing too dark to remember. Galaxies coming into creation and dying out in the blink of an eye. Traversing the untold vastness of the universe for the quickest of eternities, then I was making your toast. I think I did a good job on that one too, nice and even and golden.”

“Yes, very nice on the toast. Do you remember a name?”

“I think my full name is Theoblastus Homkulos Aloquinus Splortiq Trompu Ep’nuo Rosterroim. But I’m not completely sure.”

“That’s a heck of a name to come up with to not be completely sure,” George said.

“Well, it might be Bortluc Rotoicic Equ’plost Adinopit Drooop. But I think I changed it to the other.”

“Do you remember where you came from, or where you are?”

“My most recent memory is of a giant red star in the sky and then boom. But I also think I remember it more than once. As to where I am, I think I’m on the third rock from the nearest star. I’m not sure what the name of the orb is but I think you call it ‘Earth’.”

“So, you aren’t from this planet. How is it I can understand what you are saying?” George asked.

“I think my mind will have to be a little more put together to answer that one. But I’m just a toaster, so what do I know? I think I really like making toast.”

“I’d say you are a strange little toaster, but I don’t think that would begin to describe you.”

“I think your toast has gotten cold while we were talking. Would you like me to ask the microwave to warm it back up so you can melt your butter on it?”

“Wait, are all my electronics now self-aware? I think I saw that movie.”

George looked around nervously. He was in the middle of a lot of electronics. The toaster, microwave, oven, stove, blender, TV, computer, router. Did he just hear his vacuum thump in the closet? He didn’t want to think about his electric toothbrush coming to life. He inched his way over to hold the drawer where his electric knife lay in its box waiting for the next family holiday.

“Not to my knowledge. I was just going to be polite.”

“Oh, thank the Gods. I don’t think I could handle that case. I’m not worried about the toast right now,” George said.

“So I made it for no reason? That seems kind of silly.”

“I have so many questions. You seem to know that you are a toaster, but you seem to have travelled through time and space. I’m having trouble understanding those two things.”

“Well, don’t you know you are? What you are? Why wouldn’t I know what I am?”

“That’s a valid question, I guess. You’ve told me your name. I suppose I should tell you mine. I’m George Blastius. It’s the only name I remember, and this is the only life I seem to have had, but I could always be mistaken about all of that.”

“Well, George, I’m glad to meet you. Why don’t you show me this orb of yours? It must be fascinating, if you have toasters. You can just call me Splort. I know my full name might be a bit much every time,” Splort said.

“It won’t cause problems if I unplug you? Most toasters need to be plugged in to work.”

“I’m not sure, but since most toasters don’t talk, I think we can safely say I’m not like other toasters.”

“That would be very true,” George said.

George thought he wasn’t the best tour guide nor planetary representative for a sentient, inter-galactic toaster entity, but he would do the best he could. At least until the MIB showed up, or the men in white coats with a self hugging jacket for him to wear. He reached over and unplugged Splort and held him in front of him so he could get a good view of the world outside of his apartment.

“This is my apartment complex. It’s not much, but I can afford it.”

What happens when they step out the door? Choose Option A, B or C

Option A

There was no response from Splort. George turned him around and stared at his face again. This time, it was just his face. There was no extra smile or strange voice.

“Splort, are you there? Are you ok?”

There was no response. Whatever, or whoever, Splort apparently left when he unplugged the toaster. George wondered if Splort had continued on his way or if he had found a different toaster to inhabit. Whichever, George was sure that anything that had survived as long as Splort had couldn’t die that easily. Next time he’d leave the toaster plugged in and they could do virtual tours. Those were easier anyway. George stepped back into his apartment, plugged in the toaster and made another piece of toast. His first one had gotten too cold to melt the butter. He nibbled on it anyway. It was too dry.

Option B

“It seems an adequate domicile,” Splort said.

“You never explained how it is we can understand each other. We have many, many different languages on this planet. How is it I can communicate with an intergalactic sentience that is inhabiting my toaster?”

“I think it might have something to do with me. I’m so much older than you that it’s exponentially beyond your comprehension. I’m not really talking as you understand it. It’s not like, as a toaster, I have anything that would allow me to speak. It’s more like what you would call telepathy.”

“So you’re sort of just projecting your thoughts into my head and I’m interpreting it as hearing? Are you reading my thoughts?” George asked.

“Honestly, I don’t think what you have can be called thoughts. You are still using chemical processes to manipulate your body. On a quantum level, you are banging rocks on a log compared to how my essence communicates.”

“Gee, that’s nice to say. I thought you were just a toaster who only just woke up?”

“Well, I am also that. I could just as easily have been your cat’s litter box. I think we both lucked out there,” Splort said.

“You have a point. I’m not sure how much I can show you. I have limited funds for world travel. But I can show you the town and the waterfront, at least. Maybe from there we can find someone who can show you more of the world.”

“George, are you taking your toaster for a walk again?” Mrs. Willows asked when she saw him on the street.

George looked down at his hands. He was indeed holding his toaster as if he was taking it for a walk and showing it the world. Why was it always the toaster that he ended up talking to? Everyone was going to know he had gone off the deep end again.

He turned around, shaking his head, tucking the toaster under his arm.

"I’m going to need my meds upped again. This will be the third time this year,” he mumbled to himself as he walked back inside.

Option C

“From what I’ve gleaned from your head, this seems to be an adequate place to live. You don’t seem too unhappy here,” Splort said.

“Is that how we can understand each other? It’s not that I’m speaking some galactic standard language, but you're reading my mind somewhat and projecting what you're thinking into my head?”

“That’s one way to explain it. There is a sort of galactic standard language. It’s the language of the cosmos. It’s full of patterns and ratios. I glimpsed it in your mind. I think you call it math. But your understanding of the language is so very limited. There are aspects of the cosmos that you haven’t discovered yet.”

“You mean like dark matter and dark energy? Hey do you know how to travel in time?” George asked.

“Time is a false concept when dealing with the cosmos. It’s too wibbly wobbly to really be something to rely upon.”

“Wow, so Dr. Who was right. I’m not sure how much of the world I can show you. My traveling budget is severely limited presently.”

“I am what you would describe as a magical toaster,” Splort said.

“I think it would be safe to say a talking toaster would be magical, yes.”

“No, I mean I can do more than toast your bread. Push my lever down and I think I can solve your financial issues regarding travel funds.”

George pressed the lever and adjusted the toast level to golden brown on a whim. There was the ticking of the toaster timer and Splort shook a little. Suddenly the toaster was much heavier than it had been. The timer dinged, and a toast sized piece of gold landed in George’s hand.

He stared at this golden pop-tart of financial freedom in wonder and awe. George had never been this close to gold in his life, aside from a few flakes a friend had shown him from a weekend trip panning for gold one weekend. It was heavier than he had expected.

“So, where do you want to go first?” George asked.

“I’ve seen, in your head, a desire to go to a place called Comicon. From your visions, I think it would be a good place to observe the creatures that inhabit this planet. I may even find some friends of mine there. If your thoughts are accurate as to who visits this location.”

“I’m not gonna argue with the magical gold making toaster. I’ll go pack and we can head out now. We can be there by lunch.”