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Is that damn pizza done yet?
When I was researching New Zealand's Hermitage hotel a few weeks back for Lonely Planet, I had no idea of the weird no-brain stuff happening behind its flash doors. Maybe it was the altitude and mountain air - the Hermitage is right beside Mt Cook, New Zealand's highest peak - but a recent guest had a bit of culinary trouble in her room.
Hotel staff were called when an American guest in her mid 40s complained she couldn't get her frozen ham and pineapple pizza out of the microwave. Turns out she'd jammed the doughy treat in the lockable room safe, hit a few random numbers she thought stood for 3 minutes on high, and waited for her meaty, cheesy snack to emerge.
Is the appropriate response laughter or sympathy in such a case?
Thanks to feeb on Flickr for the pic of a pop tart retrieval process.