How I Accidentally Set a Toaster on Fire in Paris
April 7, 2025.
I had just finished reading Table for Two from Amor Towles and was inspired by the creativity behind the simplicity of every short story in his book. I opened a note on my iPhone titled short stories and began to write down ideas:
Burning a croissant in a hotel in Paris
Car gets left behind in a hospital parking lot (this is a hilarious one that happened to my sister during high school)
Coming back home from a night out and bumping into two neighbors in the elevator with two massive monsteras. They had decided to propagate them from the building garden.
As a young girl, writing a letter to confess my crush to my neighbor. Giving it to his younger brother and never getting a reply. He probably never delivered the letter.
I never followed up on those ideas. And last week, while reading through The Stories Club, I remembered that note and thought to myself: why not use this Substack and write my own short stories?
Let’s be real, talking about habits and health in every newsletter does get a bit repetitive, so why not spice it up and tap further into my creativity and my love for writing.
Starting off with the first one on the list:
Burning a croissant in a hotel in Paris.
As a Venezuelan, it’s tradition that when one turns 15, you have two options on how to celebrate such a milestone:
Host a (massive) party.
Go on a cruise around Europe with all your friends.
As a 15-year-old girl, none of these options caught my attention. I have never enjoyed being the center of attention, and I don’t thrive in big groups. So both options weren’t really options for me. My parents decided to offer me an alternative, unique idea instead.
Travel to London. Spend 3 weeks at an acting summer camp, and after the camp ended, spend a couple of days in Paris with them. I had never been to Europe. And as soon as I heard the word acting, I instantly said yes to the plan.
As a kid, I had excessive energy, and during middle school I placed all that energy into sports and theater. I was always the first one to sign up for auditions for the school play. If I didn’t land a role, I would ask to help backstage instead. I loved being inside the theater. I loved seeing how the play came to life via the actors, the costumes, the set, the lights, and the music. It was a way to escape into a parallel world. I simply loved it.
London was breathtaking. I spent 3 weeks in classes, learning about pausing between lines. Learning how to deliver them. Learning how to write monologues. Learning how to work with the writers and the video team. By the end of the summer camp, I was extremely happy.
Paris with my parents was the cherry on top of my wonderful trip. I felt like nothing could burst the bubble of a 15-year-old.
That was until breakfast on our first day.
I didn’t speak (and still don’t) French. It’s a bit similar to Spanish, so certain words can be understood, but during this particular trip I relied on my dad to translate. The hotel had a very fancy self-serve breakfast, and I was very sleepy from the 3 weeks of nonstop activity.
Without really thinking, I filled my plate with eggs, fruit, and then decided to place a perfectly delicious croissant into the conveyor belt toaster.
A minute later, I noticed a piece of paper next to the toaster. It had the image of a croissant, and a perfectly clear set of visual instructions. So clear that you didn’t need to speak any French to understand them.
My eyes went wide open as soon as I realized what I had done, and possibly couldn’t undo.
I panicked and went to the table where my parents were sitting and told them the following:
There is a small possibility that in the next minute or so, the toaster will catch on fire. And yes, because of me.
And cue the scene. That is exactly what took place. The toaster caught on fire, and all I heard was a bunch of French waiters running toward it, trying to control the situation and put out the fire.
Never in my life have I been so embarrassed. However, almost 18 years later, I laugh whenever I think back to Paris. Who would have thought that I would make a toaster catch fire just because I wanted my croissant to be toasty and warm?
As the French say: c’est la vie
with love,
Sylvia