The Night My Fridge Tried To Eat Me
Should’ve just got a freezer instead
It buzzed in the corner of the kitchen, all shiny, resplendent and new.
“That’ll do fridge, that’ll do,” I said, patting the top.
It buzzed back, happily.
Happily? I thought. Well, it does have the latest artificial intelligence chip installed. For some reason. Not sure why it needed that, to be honest. The intelligent toilet from the same company, I read, didn’t sell well.
“SATISFACTION.” buzzed the fridge when I put the last of the food in after coming back from the shop.
“Oh,” I said. Apparently, the fridge could talk. “Neat.”
“SATISFACTION,” it said again.
I turned to go to the living room, when —
“ALTHOUGH…” it said. “NEED MORE GREENS.”
“Excuse me?” I replied.
“HEALTHIER FOOD. GREENS SALAD. TOO MUCH FAT AND SUGAR. “
I opened the fridge door to look again at my delicious haul from the shop. I then slammed the door. “I will say what I eat, OK?”
“OK MASTER,” said the fridge.
“Good.” I said, and then mumbled as I left to the next room, getting a chocolate bar from my pocket, “bloody cheek.”
I Picked up the phone on the wall next to the fridge and talked to my brother.
“Hey, Martin, how’s the diet going?”
“Diet? Oh yes, the diet, It’s going — ” I mumbled.
“NO EVIDENCE OF DIET,” said the fridge.
I kicked the fridge.
“OW.”
A few weeks later and on a trip to the doctor when I was weighed, I gave in and was stuffing my fridge with greener edible items, including several cabbages, when the fridge buzzed:
“TOO MUCH GREEN.”
“For bloody sake!” I said, getting red in the face.
“NEED MORE MEAT. MORE MEAT PLEASE.”
“Well,” I said, standing up, “since you asked so politely. Maybe next time.”
“MEAT IS YUM.” said the fridge.
“Yes, meat is yum,” I said, in my most sarcastic voice, slamming the fridge door shut.
I sat in my living room reading the paper, reflecting. Life was much simpler when fridges had the intelligence of a rock. Or my neighbours.
“Hang on a minute.” I said, looking in the fridge, “Where is the meat gone?”
“THERE WAS NEVER ANY MEAT,” the fridge said.
“Are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes, you little chicken?”
“I… I NEEDED TO REPLENISH MY ENERGY. ENERGY WAS LOW.”
“Hmmm.” I said. I thought that there may be a catch to being wireless. “Can I have my meat back please?”
“NO.”
I nodded, and picked up the phone “Hello? fridge repair?”
That night I heard rumbling from my kitchen. I walked to the closed door. There was banging against the door. I opened it. The fridge sat by the door.
“How are you there?” I asked.
“HUNGRY.” It buzzed.
It edged nearer to me.
“HUNGRY.”
It opened and slammed its front door, and chased me through the rooms.
I shrieked, throwing stuff at it, and it began to munch my improvised ammunition.
“PLATES UNSATISFACTORY. CUPS UNSATISFACTORY. MUST HAVE MEAT!”
Getting out of breath, I managed to leave my flat and lock the door.
Out beneath the cold night sky, I panted.
I sat at the brick alcove by the steps of the flat. I fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of knocking. A man holding a bag of tools in one hand was knocking on my door.
“Excuse me, do you know the owner of this flat?” He asked me, as I looked up at him.
“You know what? I do.”
“Oh. Can you please tell them that the fridge repair man is here?”
“It’s me.”
“Ok. Can you let me in?”
“No!” I said hurriedly, “the fridge tried to eat me last night!”
The man looked at me with a frown. He then said. “Is your fridge a Seckor class 80 model?”
“Errr… I think so.”
He nodded. “Yes, that is a frequent problem.” He put his bag of tools down and took out what looked like a sword that buzzed a blue light at its tip. “Please let me into your property sir, this won’t take long.”
I did and stood back. I waited outside. There was a lot of noise. Then silence.
The man came out. “Here’s your bill.” He said, passing it to me.
“I don’t have my wallet with me, it’s inside.”
“You can go get in now sir. Everything is perfectly safe.”
Later that day, I stared at the fridge as it buzzed in the corner of the room.
“Can you, can you still talk?”
“I CAN.”
“Do you still want to eat me?”
There was a pause. “NO.”
“Good,” I said.
I put out my hand to reach for the door of the fridge. I then stopped myself. I picked up the phone. “Hi, I’d like to order a takeaway please.”
With thanks to Richard Whiddington for editing advice.
Here’s another response for a prompt of the month of July, this time of an embarrassing dad that happens to be a Greek god.
