Zero To Six
I grew up in a house with a kitchen and an electric 4-Plate White Superior stove and oven. It was somewhat a big deal back in the day, and one of my mum’s most prized possessions. Operating it came with strict instructions.
You twisted the heat dial anti-clockwise from 0 through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, to 6. And God help you if Mum caught you casually turning the dial from zero straight to the maximum.
You eased into it.
Zero to one.
One to two.
Two to three.
Three to four.
Five and six were never destinations to be used lightly, lest you be accused of trying to burn the house down.
Jumping from zero to six was a capital offence, with no formal charge or trial. Only judgement, delivered swiftly by Mum, who would somehow appear in the doorway as if summoned by the distinct click of the stove protesting the change from zero to maximum.
“Who told you to turn it like that?”
Nobody told me anything. I was young, hungry and impatient, mathematically, the shortest distance between 0 and 6 is a clockwise turn.
“Mum, they would not have built it like this if you were not supposed to use it like this.” I never said that out loud. Some lessons you only need to nearly learn once.
At my big age, I still don’t know what exactly was supposed to happen if I went from 0 to 6. Would the stove explode? Would the electricity mains circuit trip? Would the ancestors intervene?
And the funny thing is, now that I’m an adult, I still turn the dial the correct way.
0… 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6.
Not because I believe that going straight to 6 is hazardous. Least of all because the stove cares. But because somewhere deep in my subconscious, Mum will appear…
Waiting.
Watching.
Judging.
Some things you outgrow, some things you unlearn, and some things are installed so deeply in your operating system that, decades later, you are still following the instructions.
Leave a Reply