The first thing I noticed when I stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen early this morning was that the little red “on” light was glowing on the electric stove. The knob was turned to medium high.
It was still dark out. I was the only one up. How could this be?
I had spent the evening at the home of my old friend Roy, helping him with a writing project. I was still wide awake when he went to sleep so I decided to wash the dinner dishes.

I was in a really good mood so I went a little overboard and also rinsed out an assortment of catfood cans, apple sauce jars and yogurt containers and put them in the recycling bin. I even dumped all the junk out of the drainer, cleaned the stove top, wiped off the counters and cutting board and started scrubbing the sink.
I was almost done when I noticed the cute stainless steel sauce pan with the glass lid that Roy had purchased that day at a kitchen store in Ventura. He had bought it on sale for $45. It was just the right size for heating up soup, steaming veggies or boiling a couple of eggs.
I thought it would be nice for him to wake up and find his brand-new stainless steel pan ready to go. So I found some scissors and carefully cut off the cardboard label that fastened the glass lid onto the pan. Then, out of curiosity, I read the label. It was translated in several languages saying what a great piece of internationally known cookware this was.
I read the “Use and Care Instructions” which advised that “Before using for the first time, wash in hot, sudsy water,” which I did.
The label also said , “Always remember to preheat your pan before using.”
Then I remembered that before getting involved with this pan, I had been scrubbing the sink.
I reasoned I could kill two birds with one stone by heating up some water in this new pan. Then I would dump the hot water into the sink, right on a stubborn stain.
To be on the safe side, to break the pan in gently, I did not turn the knob all the way up–just to medium high.
Then I laid down on the couch with the latest issue of Rolling Stone, got totally engrossed in the short life of Jimmy Hendrix and fell asleep.
When I saw that innocent little sauce pan sitting on the stove under the overhead night light, my heart sank.
The silver shine was all gone. It looked so….black.
I turned off the burner, grabbed a dish towel and removed the glass lid. The poor pot was all ashen and sooty inside.
Suddenly I felt like a small child who had done something terribly wrong.
I was totally irrational .
Normally I would have dropped the burnt blackened pot straight into the sink and drenched it with water but I was afraid the sizzling, sputtering sound of cold water hitting hot steel would wake Roy.
I was afraid the smell would rouse him and he would bolt into the kitchen and yell at me.
So I ran outside into the still dark morning and set the hot pan right on top of the railing of his redwood deck.
I hurriedly made some coffee, fed the cats, got dressed and looked out over the valley as it began to grow light.
I tried to think. What should I do?
The child in me did not want to face this man who suddenly seemed like an angry looming father figure.
I had to get the hell out of there before any one got wind of my crime.
When I picked the pan up off the redwood railing it was still alarmingly hot. And then I really felt stupid because now, on top of everything else, there was a round black indentation on the wood the exact size of the bottom of the pot.
Evidence.
Roy would see that black spot and put two and two together.
So I carefully put the still hot pot inside a canvas shopping bag which I then placed in a wicker basket. Just in case he woke up while I was sneaking out, I folded a bunch of clothes on top.
Then I found the pieces of the cardboard cookware label (so I’d have the brand) and hid it in my purse.
I quietly gathered up my dog, my laptop and the rest of my stuff. Then I quickly wrote a good bye note, being careful to sound as normal as possible. I gaily described the early morning antics of his cats and reported that I’d fed them. I wished him a nice day. And at the bottom of the page I casually scrawled,
“PS. Took your new pot to Rains to check prices and maybe get one like it. Will bring back later.”
He should be grateful I woke up at dawn and did not burn the house down!