Inmy quest to pull a Marie Kondo and declutter my life, I’d love to ween myself off of microwave ovens, but I can’t. I start my day by reheating coffee. For lunch I nuke pre-made rice and leftovers. Then there’s the takeout that needs a thermal touchup.
The problem: microwaves have the lifespan of a gnat. Over the years, I’ve gone through a swarm of them, enough to stuff a landfill the size of Wyoming. And it’s not like I’m taking them off-roading: they sit on my kitchen counter and simply respond to button pushes and door opens.
By comparison, I’ve had laptops last years longer, even though I lug them to school every day, drop the bag they’re riding in, type in so many words that the letters wear off the keys, scroll endlessly through toxic social-media feeds, and submit them to hours of academic PowerPoint presentations that could be deemed cruel and unusual.