Poland Town Public Works

Ah, the toaster — humanity’s brave attempt to domesticate fire, except now it’s a beige box that occasionally spits out edible shrapnel. Two slots, four slots, who cares? They all have that same mysterious dial with numbers that aren’t minutes, seconds, or any other unit known to modern science, but apparently measure “how much you enjoy disappointment.” And nothing says “advanced technology” like fishing your breakfast out with a fork while pretending you remember the last time the smoke alarm didn’t go off. But sure, keep telling yourself it’s worth the counter space, because obviously the kitchen aesthetic hinges on a crumb tray you’ll only remember exists during a minor ant infestation.