Our stove had a gas leak and has to be replaced. Many things in our apartment seem to be going, whether they’re taking their cues from the atmosphere of the times and deciding enough’s enough or if they were just, you know, all purchased around the same year and are running out of, um…GAS.
Our landlord texted me the phone number for a plumber, which initially baffled me. Wisdom from Dad: “Plumbers also do gas.” This fascinates me. It would not surprise me that someone might go to school for both plumbing and gas, but the fact that they are apparently often twined, and that this is something people know–well, I was not one of those people.
I feel like I’ve written this exact statement before but I’m always fascinated by the varied things that people reach adulthood without knowing. For me, growing up with a gas stove but one with an electric ignitor, the first time I saw pilot lights was cause to call my parents and say “Uh…is there supposed to be a flame that lives under the stove?” (Don’t judge). In my early twenties I once caught a roommate poking around in the toaster–the PLUGGED IN toaster–with a fork, and she was surprised to learn that that was probably a bad idea. That one seemed extreme–“Don’t put metal things in the toaster” seems like it should be taught around the same time as “Don’t touch fire”–but we all have our blind spots.
So, public service announcement: never leave the dryer on when no one is home. Don’t slide down slides with a child on your lap — broken femur! Broken femur! — and definitely don’t swing small children around by their arms (dislocated shoulder! dislocated shoulder!). Using too much Ben-gay can be hazardous (this I learned after posting on Facebook, in jest, that I was marinating my limbs in it).
And this one is an opinion that contradicts official labels but GOOD GOD, man, don’t put anything plastic or partly composed of plastic in the microwave.
*I am excellent fun at parties!
