I’m on hold for about 15 minutes or so before the Instant Pot representative comes on the line. The music isn’t half bad for being of the elevator genre – reminiscent of the Allman Brothers in their heyday – but it gets old after the third or fourth repeat. Whoever composed it obviously could not make the cut in the class of southern rock and was relegated to this…entertaining frustrated customers who are wondering what the hell happened to their double batch of vegetarian chili.
Sad, isn’t it? I used to spend hours on the phone with the internet and phone companies, trying to make sense out of quantum physics based billing practises. Now, I’m spending time trying to understand a combination pressure/slow/rice cooker. And this on a sunny day when I should be outside hiking before the icy grip of Canadian winter takes hold.
Speaking of winter, the quest for a place to hang my sun hat has begun. India leads at the moment (she always does), but Portugal, Spain and Africa are also in the running. No doubt I’ll end up somewhere that isn’t on the list…that seems to be my style.
