When people ask me why I love my Rubbermaid spatula so much, I usually just tell them the regular stuff: it’s a high quality, heat resistant spatula of the spoonula or scraper variety, really great for stirring things around in a hot pan, and the flat, flexible blade (which is made from silicone, not rubber) is great for getting every last bit of soup, sauce or batter from any pot or bowl. It also comes in 3 sizes, and if you get it from the right place, it’s pretty cheap, too. What I don’t always tell people, because I don’t like to humblebrag, is that it can also come in handy when trying to defend yourself and your family from a deranged maniac out of his mind on bath salts and wielding a hot clothes iron.
It Started Out Like Any Normal Afternoon…
It was Saturday afternoon, and I was in the kitchen, listening to some pleasant music and doing some cooking. I had mixed up some instant cupcake batter, and I used the curved edge of my Rubbermaid high-heat scraper to make sure I got all the batter out of the bowl and into the cupcake liners. I put them in the oven, rinsed off the spatula and went to work sauteing some onions and mushrooms for spaghetti sauce.
I was feeling pretty good, stirring my food around in the hot pan with the spatula, enjoying the fragrant aromas rising up as the veggies softened up in the butter. The onions were just getting translucent when I heard something that made my stomach jump into my throat: my wife, in the next room over, unleashed a blood curdling scream!
OMFG – Maniac In The House!!!!
Running into the living room, I was shocked to find that my wife had been ironing my clothes. She never does that, so I just about fell down from shock. But before I could, I noticed there was a man in his underwear standing in the doorway leading out into the hallway. He had a crazy look on his face, and was looking at my wife as if she were a delicious sandwich. He licked his lips and started walking towards her. She screamed again.
For a moment I was frozen. It just seemed too unreal, like something out of a bad dream. But I realized I had to act, and act quickly. I ran between my wife and the maniac. He lunged at me, and we tumbled to the ground. As we grappled, and my wife screamed, I felt him bite me on the shoulder and I wondered if he would be biting me if my home wasn’t full of the mouthwatering aroma of sauteed onions.
There was a repeating slapping sound, and it dawned on me that not only was I still gripping the Rubbermaid spatula, I was also hitting him with it. Given the Rubbermaid’s high quality design with just the right amount of firmness and flexibility for cooking your favorite dishes without scratching your cookware, it was a very ineffectual attack. I changed tactics and jabbed the handle into his eye.
Good Thing It’s A High-Heat Scraper
The psychopath jumped up, screaming and clutching his bloody eye socket. Never taking my eye off of him, I got to my feet and assessed the situation. Meanwhile, my wife was standing off to the side, still screaming her head off.
I think the crazy, half-naked guy and I noticed the burning fabric smell at the same time. We both looked over at the ironing board, where my favorite dress shirt was now beginning to smoke from the hot iron that was on it. I tried to run over and grab it, but he was closer than I was, and got his hand on the handle before I could. He lifted it up and grinned. He now had the upper hand.
He immediately began menacing me with it. We circled each other, him with a dangerously hot iron, and me with a seemingly innocuous but already proven Rubbermaid spatula. When he lunged at me and tried to burn my face, I knew I was in big trouble.
Fortunately, the Rubbermaid high-heat scraper is heat resistant up to 500 degrees Fahrenheit! My wife had been ironing cotton garments, which require heat about a hundred degrees less than that, and that’s probably what saved my life.
I quickly put the spatula up between my face and the iron. I heard a sizzling noise as he pushed me across the room by my face. I let out a scream, thinking he was searing my face, but fortunately it turned out to be the butter that was left on the scraper.
My Rubbermaid Scraper Put An End To This Madness
The madman had me against the wall, but I was able to leverage the firm nylon handle against the iron to push it away from my face. I could smell burnt butter, which is a huge pet peeve of mine. I could feel the rage build in me and a superhuman strength take over my body.
“You son of a bitch!” I screamed, shoving him with all my might. He went flying off of me and went crashing into my screaming wife, who stopped screaming as they tumbled to the floor. He looked up at me, for the first time with fear in his eyes. My wife said I had a savage, bloodthirsty look on my face. The crazy guy went running for the front window, crashing through it into my well manicured azalea bushes.
My wife began screaming again, for no really good reason if you ask me, since the danger had passed. I calmly walked to the kitchen and dialed 911. My food on the stove was burnt and ruined, and I’d have to start over. Fortunately, the Rubbermaid spatula was still in perfect condition, and since it’s dishwasher safe it was a snap to clean!
Nowadays, whenever I look at that Rubbermaid spatula, I think back to that fateful day. I can’t even saute onions anymore without thinking of how the cops arrested the guy down the street, where he was doing bath salts in the alley behind a liquor store. He was bloody and naked except for my burnt shirt, which I didn’t even see him grab. “I thought dude was cool!” was all he said to them. I most certainly was not cool!
I sometimes wonder how it would have gone down if I wasn’t cooking with that particular Rubbermaid spatula at that moment. Thankfully, I’ll never have to know.