Contemporary story
On

Professor Panini

Before my many years' service in a restaurant, I attended a top science university. The year was 2023 and I was finishing the project that would win me my professorship. In the end, it resulted in my becoming a kitchen employee.

My forty-second birthday had made a lonely visit the week before, and I was once again by myself in the flat. Like countless other mornings, I ordered a bagel from the toaster. 'Yes, sir!' it replied with robotic relish, and I began the day's work on the project. It was a magnificent machine, the thing I was making - capable of transferring the minds of any two beings into each other's bodies.

As the toaster began serving my bagel on to a plate, I realised the project was in fact ready for testing. I retrieved the duck and the cat - which I had bought for this purpose - from their containers, and set about calibrating the machine in their direction. Once ready, I leant against the table, holding the bagel I was too excited to eat, and initiated the transfer sequence. As expected, the machine whirred and hummed into action, my nerves tingling at its synthetic sounds.

The machine hushed, extraction and injection nozzles poised, scrutinizing its targets. The cat, though, was suddenly gripped by terrible alarm. The brute leapt into the air, flinging itself onto the machine. I watched in horror as the nozzles swung towards me; and, with a terrible, psychedelic whirl of colours, felt my mind wrenched from its sockets.

When I awoke, moments later, I noticed first that I was two feet shorter. Then, I realised the lack of my limbs, and finally it occurred to me that I was a toaster. I saw immediately the solution to the situation - the machine could easily reverse the transfer - but was then struck by my utter inability to carry this out.

After some consideration, using what I supposed must be the toaster's onboard computer, I devised a strategy for rescue. I began to familiarise myself with my new body: the grill, the bread bin, the speaker and the spring mechanism. Through the device's rudimentary eye - with which it served its creations - I could see the internal telephone on the wall. Aiming carefully, I began propelling slices of bread at it. The toaster was fed by a large stock of the stuff, yet as more and more bounced lamely off the phone, I began to fear its exhaustion.

*

Toasting the bread before launch proved a wiser tactic. A slice of crusty wholemeal knocked the receiver off its cradle, and the immovable voice of the reception clerk answered. Resisting the urge to exclaim my unlikely predicament, I called from the table: 'I'm having a bit of trouble up here, Room 91. Could you lend a hand?'

'Certainly, sir. There's a burst water pipe on the floor above, I suppose I'll kill two birds with one stone and sort you out on the way,'

The clerk arrived promptly, leaving his 'caution, wet floor' sign in the corridor. He came in, surveying the room in his usual dry, disapproving fashion. I spoke immediately, saying I was on the intercom, and requested that he simply press the large button on the machine before him. 'This one, sir?' he asked, and before I could correct him, the room was filled with a terrible, whirling light, and he fell to the ground.

A minute later he stood up again, uncertainly, and began moving in a manner that can only be described as a waddle. The duck, meanwhile, was scrutinising the flat with an air of wearied distaste. I gazed at the scene with dismay. Suddenly an idea struck the clerk, and with avian glee he tottered towards the window. I spluttered a horrified warning to no avail. He leapt triumphantly from the balcony, spread his 'wings' and disappeared. I would have wept, but managed only to eject a few crumbs.

←2→

*

Hours of melancholy calculation and terrible guilt gave no progress, and left me with a woeful regret for the day's events. Determined not to give up hope, I began to burn clumsy messages into slices of bread, and slung these desperate distress calls through the window. I sought not only my own salvation, but also to account for the bizarre demise of the clerk, who must no doubt have been discovered on the street below. I soon found my bread bin to be empty, and sank again into a morose meditation.

A large movement shocked me from my morbid contemplation. Before me, having clambered up from the floor, stood my own body. It regarded me with dim cheer.

'I have been upgraded,' it announced in monotone. The room was silent as I struggled to cope with this information. Then:

'Would you like some toast?'

The truth dawned on me, and I wasted no time in seeing the utility of this revelation. I informed the toaster, which was now in control of my body, that I wished it to fetch help. It regarded me warily, then asked if I would like that buttered. Maintaining patience, I explained the instruction more thoroughly. I watched with surreal anticipation as my body of forty-two years jerked its way out of the flat. It rounded the corner, and there was a hope-dashing crash. It had tripped up on the 'caution: wet floor' sign. To my joyous relief, however, I heard the thing continue on its way down the corridor.

Minutes passed, then hours. I entertained myself flicking wheat-based projectiles at the cat. On the dawn of the third day, I concluded that the toaster had failed in its piloting of my body, and that help was not on its way. Gripped by the despair of one who must solve the puzzle of toaster suicide, I resigned myself to my fate.

Pushed on by a grim fervour, I began igniting the entire stock of bread. As the smoke poured from my casing, and the first hints of deadly flame flickered in my mechanisms, I began the solemn disclosure of my own eulogy.

←3

Suddenly the fire alarm leapt into action, hurling thick jets of water across the flat, desperate to save its occupants. A piercing wail erupted from all sides, and a squabbling mixture of annoyance, relief and curiosity filtered into my mind.

*

Once the firemen had visited and deactivated the alarm, I was identified as the fault, unplugged and hauled away to a repair shop. The staff there, finding nothing to remove but a faulty speech chip, apparently put me up for sale. I only know this because, on being reconnected to the mains, I found myself in a shiny, spacious kitchen. Missing my electronic voice, I could only listen to the conversation of the staff, discussing the odd conduct of their new cook. The end of their hurried discussion heralded his arrival. I gazed at the door in silent surrender, as my body stepped proudly on to the premises, displaying its newly designed menu. At the top of the list I could discern 'Buttered bagel'.

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Average: 4.5 (4 votes)

Comments

Submitted by admin on Fri, 05/29/2009 - 21:57

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i laughed quite a bit, and the humor was spot-on.
one thing i noticed, though: in the middle of the story, the narrator finds the bread bin to be empty. he gets sad. then, two paragraphs later, he entertains himself by "flicking wheat-based projectiles at the cat."
wheres the new bread coming from? no one refilled him...

Submitted by admin on Sun, 07/05/2009 - 10:14

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Firstly, I couldnt understand this story,but it was
interesting a little.
This story was very humor.
I seemed that the toaster and the bagel alive.
I have never read such a story.
I wanted to read it again.

Submitted by admin on Thu, 09/10/2009 - 00:07

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I thought the story was very cute and a good read. Apparently, some of the people who have left comments have absolutely no imagination. But Matthew, worry not... upon seeing some of the terrible grammar in the comments, Ive determined that theyre not the kind of critics you would be hoping to appeal to anyways. ;) Keep writing, and may you live your dream.

Submitted by admin on Fri, 10/02/2009 - 11:10

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I loved the toasters
character...everything it did was
hilarious.
I liked the way the author described the
professor getting panicky in just one,
quick sentence.
Overall, a good story, but it couldve had
a bit more humor.

Yumna

Submitted by admin on Sat, 10/03/2009 - 05:30

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I liked this story. Its short easy to understand and very interesting. Although its labeled humor, it isnt very funny.

I would recommend this story to boys aged 10-12. Its short and the sci-fi would appeal to boys.

Submitted by admin on Sun, 10/04/2009 - 10:09

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its a nice story thats unique in a way that its not like other stories that could be easily predicted. i Love the way its sort of predicting the future in 2023.
Could have been better though.
-Michah

Submitted by admin on Thu, 10/08/2009 - 17:10

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I like this plot very much. To me its really interesting knowing what "toaster professors" feelings and thoughts are when living the life of a toaster. It feels like just about anything can happen to the "toaster professor"! And that is why you captivate the reader. Anything can happen! the ending could have been a bit sadder though, it ends well but still, its so-so.

Keep up the good work!

Submitted by admin on Sun, 10/11/2009 - 03:00

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Professor Panini – a kitchen inventor with more brains than any average rocket scientist had devised a toaster that could accept verbal demands and make toast without a single finger of help. Professor Panini had his pets beside him as his audience for the first test of the toaster and somehow the toaster and the professor switched bodies.
The outlook from the toaster was gloomy at first- he wanted nothing more but to get out of the toaster and back into his body. I would imagine it would feel as a tree’s spirit feels- stuck to feel nothing more than the weather and woodland creatures pecking into and cajoling about on the surface of. I admire trees- and have always felt that people who commit suicide could come back as a tree. Murderers would be rocks and sediments as such. To be trapped and still be coherent to such is a scary prospect for anyone and to have it suddenly actually happen may seem impossible but the truth is we really don’t know.
Here he was- stuck within his masterpiece. He was sent off to a repair shop and lost the voice box he had installed (which proved helpful for a time only to call for the hotel clerk; only to switch the clerks and Panini’s pet duck’s bodies) leaving him transfixed inside a toaster forever.
The highlight I do see in this is what would be the lessons in being a tree- to learn by observation. To be an encyclopedia of knowledge and understanding and have absolutely nothing to be able to share or experience yourself- aside from the physical tasks of your rooted self. Only in Panini’s case it wasn’t nature serving him the details of life outside a box- it was the kitchen staff in the home he ended up inside of. I enjoyed the ending further when I saw that the new cook in the kitchen was none other than the toaster within Panini’s old body.
A fun and charming story I was only happy to stumble upon.

Submitted by admin on Mon, 03/08/2010 - 07:48

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It Was a story that was sometimes
funny,but serious at the same time.I
think that this story is possibly using
a metaphor to convey a message about our
growing trust in machinery.When we first
had machines we were wary of them,and
even this was influenced by the
media.However,as we move on in life and
more technology becomes available to
us,we trust in it more and more.This
could prove dangerous.

If you examine this story carefully,you
will also find a message about
suicide,that mentions attempting suicide
can only lead to be either dead or
locked up without being able to utter a
word for the rest of your life.
Though I thoughroly enjoyed this story,
I find that on reflection, I find the
Author has thrown together the start and
the end.The start being the piece of the
story designed to draw the reader
in,this is a drawback.Also there is a
bit of writing missing in between page 1
and 2.But this isnt too bad for an
internet story,if you handed it in for
an assignment you would definitely lose
marks for these 3 fall points.
This story is very creative and uses
humour to draw the reader in.
such as

"Minutes passed, then hours. I
entertained myself flicking wheat-based
projectiles at the cat."

This story has a sad ending,though with
some irony where the professor/cooks
body works in the kitchen where the mind
of the body is in the toaster,yearning
for what is in front of its eyes.

Overall,this story cooks with your
brain,just like the professor. It puts
sad in a bowl,ads a pinch off humour and
makes a few mistakes while cooking.

Joel Waddell,14

Submitted by admin on Sun, 04/18/2010 - 16:41

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Great story!

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