I try not to join many new crazes, avoiding bandwagons all together. During the boy band music craze of the '90s, I stuck with my Billy Ray Cyrus and Rocking Hits of the '60s"" tapes, avoiding Britney and Christina at all costs. I prefer old, classic and astute qualities in my decisions in life, mostly regarding men, music, movies and buildings. Science Hall is by far my favorite building on campus, in all its ancient historic glory. Grainger, on the other hand, continually lets me down, especially when it comes to food.
Perhaps I just expected too much from the prestigious business school. It may be the waterfall spanning the entire lobby wall next to the flat screen television and modern red ottomans that led me astray. Maybe it's the impressively high percentage of frat boys milling about in their Polos and backwards caps leading me to believe Grainger exceeds all others. Either way, the microwave in Grainger's café is the oldest and scariest appliance I have ever seen.
Surrounded by brand new tables, chairs and plastic utensil holders sits this hideous machine. It took a roommate guiding me to its location in the very corner of the café to find this ancient apparatus. At first glance, this microwave scared me. It looks like a cross between a time machine and a black Trans Am forced into a small box shape. I crinkled my face in a quizzical manner, asking myself if this really could be the best the business school could offer.
It took a few minutes to decipher how to use it. It has a handle, window on the door and only a few time options. It only offers a handful of exact cooking times, ranging from 10 seconds to four minutes. It does not have a start or stop button. It does not have any options for cooking level, pausing or popcorn. A simple row of a few choices are the only options available. Users are merely expected to open the door and press the desired time to start cooking, which is when things start to get really scary.
Tentatively opening the door, I noticed the inside of the machine. Not only is this machine scary from the outside, but it is terrifying on the inside as well. This box contains no rotating tray. However, someone graciously placed half a paper towel over the scorched bottom of the machine, leading me to believe the microwave has ruined many desired items. Should I chance my potentially delicious bag of popcorn on this ancient antique? My stomach grumbled, and I decided to go for it. It was the point of no return.
The microwave revs up like a NASCAR fan's RV on race day. It never actually starts or stops cooking, or at least it sounds like it never stops. The waves of continuous radiation never cease once you press a button. It's scary not only because you have no idea what the machine is doing, but because you feel like you will die from radiation if you stand near it for more than two minutes.
Once I pressed the three minute button, all I could do was wait. Resisting the urge to duck behind the nearest table to protect my internal organs, I glanced down at the table holding the microwave.
This ancient machine rests on a very nice table matching every other new thing in the million dollar café, creating a very entertaining juxtaposition where ancient machine meets brand new table. The table obviously cost at least three times as much as the microwave it held. This confuses me. The microwave used by students, faculty and staff should outperform the table holding it, leading me to my next point.
The brand new section of Grainger cost millions upon millions of dollars, and yet no one could find the extra $20 to buzz over to Target and purchase a new microwave. I want to know who decided to save money by keeping this prehistoric tool around.
In this microwave's defense, it works fine. It popped my popcorn in the standard amount of time, and it tasted normal. I am a little worried about possibly dying in the next decade because of it, but that is a minor detail. It's time to update, Grainger. Get someone on that.
If you have an extra $20 to spend on making Grainger all it can be, go to 975 University Avenue to replace the microwave. Or send all complaints to bisek@wisc.edu.
