First, unbox a microwave entree, slit the plastic film as instructed, place the entree in the oven, set the timer, and press Start. This amount of time, the timer figure, will not be consciously thought about but will still somehow enter your consciousness with a certain strange urgency. These actions are performed with a practiced air of nonchalance. Once the familiar hum of the fan commences and the black plastic tray begins its somehow forlorn rotation, the important thing is to halfway forget the details of the countdown and to "go about your business," like for instance to climb the stairs, go into your bedroom, and root around for the magazine you intend to browse while eating. All this time you are intensely aware of the time left on the microwave's digital clock, yet it's vital that you not appear to be aware, as if a hidden observer is judging your performance and making cruel deductions for signs of panic or even heightened awareness. When you've found the magazine, move out of the room and pause at the top of the stairs. This is where you intuit the time left and the number of steps back to the kitchen and the time required to take these steps, and then you begin your descent. As you go down and then move toward the kitchen, an arcane rule spontaneously imposes itself on your mind seemingly in the same moment that this rule also goes into effect. The impossible simultaneity of these two events is a mystery upon which you dare not dwell. In this case, it is suddenly imperative that your final five steps coincide with the sotto voce utterance of the five-syllable phrase "erlenmeyer flask" and that the vocalization of the final syllable shall precisely coincide with the microwave's distinctive beep, signaling the readiness of your dinner, taking into account that cooking continues internally for an additional one to two minutes. This is not important, it's all about the beep.

Er-len-mey-er flask. Stop, beep. Done.

If this does not happen, if the timing is off, emergency procedures commence. Namely, another phrase is uttered, this one of four syllables, within the same overall theme as the first phrase. For instance, "bunsen burner." You are allowed to stretch this utterance out a little, just a little, to make it "fit" into the time required.

Bun-sen bur-ner. Stop, beep.

If again you have erred and the countdown is still in progress, continue on to a three-syllable word, and if necessary a two-syllable word, then one. If you reach this point and you are still somehow in error, you will feel disaster in your nerves, sheer terror will rise into your face like electricity, and you will be gripped with the certainty of terrible misfortune.

Or so I imagine. I really wouldn't know, personally.