How the politics of home can drive you nuts

BLACK HOLE: The random device storage cupboard is a dark impenetrable jungle in the kitchen where appliances go to hide.

BLACK HOLE: The random device storage cupboard is a dark impenetrable jungle in the kitchen where appliances go to hide.

X RARELY marks the spot when it comes to finding things in the kitchen.

Just say you decide you’re gonna make something. A cashew dip, for example. Shouldn’t drive you nuts. A few simple ingredients, a few simple implements, requiring a few simple neurones.

Should be easy. Should be appreciated. Should be re-evaluated if you think that is how this story goes. 

The trouble was, as usual, total situational awareness (TSA), or lack of it. Everything I thought was in the kitchen, wasn’t. Well it was, I just couldn't find it. Ingredients, implements, patience to find the implements, ingredients etc. Cycle of life.

The first challenge, as always, was the random device storage cupboard (RDSC). A museum of gadgets stuffed under the benchtop, tangled up in all manner of power cords, sourced from across the ages.

Experience teaches you to pull out each device at least twice, marking with stickers so the coroner will know that you treated the evidence in accordance with “man look” protocols, before suggesting, ever so timidly, that someone might have moved what ever it is you were looking for. In this case, an attachment for the stick blender.

A risky assertion because maybe someone did, maybe someone didn’t, maybe someone was busy watching TV. Reports from a third party suggest it was in circulation the day before when hummus was made.

It’s absence makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. But when you ask if someone knows where it is, you realise you aren’t losing your mind. They are.

At you, about not being a database for everything in the house. Which would be fair enough if they weren’t in fact the database for everything in the house. To prove this, try moving something somewhere else. You’ll be told immediately it doesn’t belong there.

So, where to now your honour? I’ll tell you where, back to the RDSC for a second man look carrying your suitably chastened bitten-off head under your arm. By this stage you’re starting to bang things together in meaningful ways that communicate ‘effort’. Pathetic behaviour perhaps, but sometimes enough to smoke out a suggestion that if it was in play yesterday and wasn’t in the RDSC, it might be somewhere else.

A mysterious clue in the great tradition of who-moved-its and sure enough, after a few cross-eyed moments of deduction, there was the thing on the sink. Which begs the next question: Why didn’t the person who did not pack it away, suggest it was there earlier rather than send me back to 10 fruitless minutes banging around in the RDSC?

Experience teaches that the answer to this, apart from TSA, is people are watching TV and don’t want to be bothered because, as has been stated before, “they’re not the personal database for everything in this house.” Which is not being questioned.

What is being questioned now is where are those bloody cashews I just put on the benchtop. Packed away, as it turns out, by the third party. A world first. Wish they’d done that with the stick blender thingo.

Cashew dips? Talk about driving you nuts!