Ah, the fridge. The cold-hearted companion that was supposed to never let me down—literally designed to chill in every sense of the word. But no. Today, it decided that being reliable was just too much pressure (or maybe the compressor just couldn’t handle the heat of being a functional appliance).
I open the door, expecting the gentle hum of modern technology, and what do I get? Silence. Not the peaceful kind, either—the eerie, “I just died and took all your food with me” kind of silence. The milk? A sour science experiment. The vegetables? A sad, mushy reminder that health is temporary but disappointment is forever. And let’s not even talk about the ice cream—because now it’s just cream.
Oh, and the timing! Right before I was about to restock. Naturally. Because why would it break when it’s empty? No, this fridge had ambition—it wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, taking half my paycheck’s worth of groceries with it.
So here I stand, a tragic hero in my own kitchen, armed with nothing but a roll of paper towels and a rage-fueled determination to clean up the puddle of defeat forming on the floor. Rest in peace, dear fridge. You were cold-hearted in all the wrong ways.
Chris Conidis is a versatile improv performer, filmmaker and writer, celebrated for his inventive blend of improv and comedy from Saint Cloud, Florida. 