Another classic bit of English understatement. An apologetic lady has just said this to me:
“I’m ever so sorry sir, but we’re unable to make you soup after all, as our microwave has just blown up.”
Now, rest easy, Rest-of-the-World! The kitchen’s not on fire, nobody’s running around screaming, and there is no fireball sweeping through the café. I’m not being showered with rubble, and the sound of sirens is not rushing in from a gaping hole in the brickwork where the microwave used to be.
Neither has the microwave-oven suddenly inflated itself, ballooning its way into the room, knocking over tables and chairs and OAPs like a giant blimp. At least if it has, there’s no panic behind the counter. And you’d imagine there would be.
No, my guess is that it just sort of... stopped working, presumably with a half-heated bowl of tomato and basil soup in it. Maybe a fuse; maybe the klystron, or whatever it is that does the magic. Maybe the bulb went! The microwave was working; then it wasn’t. That’s the story.
It’s weird how she communicated it and I understood it without questioning. It’s almost as though she deliberately exaggerated the drama behind the scenes, in order to placate any drama I may have had in front of them, at the sudden unavailability of my tomato and basil soup. I can’t really blame her.
They’ve brought me a cheese and onion sandwich to make up for what they think is my disappointment. Truth is I’m not actually all that bothered - I’m not even sure I like tomato soup.
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