Would YOU Pay to Live in a POW Camp? Because Apparently *I* Do. **UPDATED**

My precarious sanity is once again being tested.  Okay, you may or may not know that we are currently renting (lame city, let me tell you).  Our house is generally nice, and there aren't a ton of problems, even though it was built in the 1920s, so that is great.  But then ... there is the timer.


In our kitchen is an old school built-in stove.  It is pink and retro and adorable, and people who visit are always like "OH!  It is pink and retro and adorable!" and I'm like *nod*.

On said oven (that we don't use for fear of 70-year old funk creeping up into our food), there is a timer.  An adorable old fashioned timer.

Guess what?  The timer is fucking POSSESSED (or broken, who knows) and it CONSTANTLY makes a whirring/humming noise.  When we walked through the house, the noise was so low that we didn't even hear it.  But then when we were unpacking, all of a sudden the noise began rising.  Like, I thought maybe a motorcycle was driving down our street and slowly approaching.  THAT kind of noise.


Ever since then we have been entrenched in an epic battle with the damn timer.  We have tried everything to get that thing shut off for good.  Also?  Apparently there is NO WAY TO UNPLUG THE OVEN.  That's what landlord claims, and Jeremy concurs, having spent a few hours trying to find where the cord plugs in.  And the answer is, it leads NOWHERE and cannot be unplugged.


So Jeremy is able to get it down to a very low hum and then every few weeks it kicks back in like a motorcycle in the kitchen and after a few hours of battle he shuts it up again.  Well, he came home for lunch today, and just as he was leaving?  The m-f-er kicked into high gear, as if to say, "I know he doesn't have time to fix me before he leaves for work, bitch!  You will have to deal with me all day on your day off!!  Muaaahaaahaa!"


I begged.  I pleaded.  I reminded him that this was similar to torture techniques used in POW camps.  Did he stay and fix it?  NOOOOO, he went to WORK so he could keep his JOB and get a PAYCHECK.  Just wait until he gets home and I am all like a crazy feral animal and pulling my hair out and my teeth have been ground down to nubs.  Then he'll be sorry.

I am SOOOOO tempted ...

UPDATE:  Oh my god, you have no idea.  I hit "publish" and that goddamn timer kicked on LOUDER THAN I HAVE EVER HEARD IT BEFORE.  And the animals spazzed out.  Which they don't do with other loud noises.  So ... possessed?  I'll let YOU be the judge.