Alison Spittle: Bring back dignity to the breakfast buffet

As an impatient queue forms behind you, you wonder: is this what hell would feel like?

Alison Spittle: here’s a nice mild gripe

Alison Spittle: here’s a nice mild gripe

 

These days I’m finding it difficult to be negative, I’m trying meditation at the moment and it’s working. If I thought about the really bad stuff that destroys my soul, well I wouldn’t get out of bed.

So here’s a nice mild gripe. I dislike the toaster system at breakfast buffets. You know the ones. They’re big silver boxes at the edge of the buffet with two types of slice pan towers balancing on a plate beside them.

You end up playing bread Jenga while holding on to your carefully selected fry.

You plop a slice on what looks like a conveyor belt in hell and you stare into the fiery abyss while your lukewarm food chills in your grip. You wait an age for the bread to move along the flaming travelator; it disappears for a second and voilà: warm bread. You sigh and start the process again. A queue has formed behind you; they look just as impatient as you. You crane your neck in to the hot heat of the inferno – mild pain is better than awkwardness – your eyes start to dry and you wonder: is this what hell would feel like? Constant mild annoyance with a dash of pyrotechnics?

Oh no! You spot the dark chickenpox of carbon besmirching your tasty slice. It could be salvageable, but there is no bin for you to scrape the flecks of ash into. The bread is only halfway through the machine. It will get blacker and no amount of butter can save it.

The queue is bigger now. They can smell what you’ve done but they don’t care. You’ve had your chance – you’ll just have to lump it and eat your burned toast with your cold fry.

Bring back dignity to the breakfast buffet, a toaster at every table. Maybe someone should invent a travel toaster like the travel iron and sort out this mess once and for all.

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