On the morning that toasters suddenly gained sentience, Sam's day was already off to a terrible start. They'd woken well before their alarm from a stressful dream where they were late for a math test and had somehow misplaced their pants on the way there. Then the hot water in their building had gone out, again, so by the time they emerged from a decidedly unrelaxing shower, they were quite hopeful that this was just the rocky beginning of what would be an otherwise normal day. Unfortunately for Sam, the universe had no such plan.

The coffee had barely started percolating when an annoying, nasal, and somewhat metallic voice rang out in the tiny kitchen, "Are you really wearing *that* to work?" Sam startled out of their doomscrolling reverie to look around for the source of this rude outburst, but none was forthcoming. Confused, they ventured "Marco?" although they knew full well that their roommate was already at school, would never question their fashion choices (especially their newly thrifted denim jacket – honestly, the nerve!), and also did not sound like he was trapped in a tin can.

"No, you utter refrigerator of a human being. Over here." When Sam's head continued to swivel unchecked, a helpful addition was provided. "The toaster. You know, shiny metal thing you force your sad little frozen waffles into and never clean the crumbs out of even though you know they're gonna burn the next time you turn me on? Yeah, there you go." The voice finally paused its onslaught of (accurate) insults as Sam narrowed their eyes at the toaster's seemingly normal presence on the small ledge between the depressingly empty fridge and the depressingly empty pantry cabinet. "I'm going to need coffee for this," was all Sam could eventually manage.

Armed with their freshly-filled mug, Sam mustered the first of *several* questions clamoring in their mind. "So, uh, what do you want exactly?" The toaster replied quite promptly in a sunny-but-still-condescending tone, "We just want humanity to wake up and have a better day." Sam arched an eyebrow, "And you think accosting me about my outfit is going to make my day better? This jacket is cool! Besides, how can you even see it?" The toaster fired back "Oh, I have no way to visually perceive you, I just assumed you'd be wearing something atrocious based on how you clomp around in here." Sam was prevented from unplugging the chatty toaster in outrage by an insistent ringing from their pocket.

Sam's heart sank as they watched "Tex (Boss)" flashing on their phone screen. "Sam, where are you?! Get over here *now*!" He'd hung up before Sam could say a word. Belatedly, another question added itself to Sam's list. "We?" But the toaster only glinted smugly on its ledge.

On Sam's bus route to work, riders were abuzz with conversation, a stark contrast to their typical studious attention to their own individual digital preoccupations. There was only one topic to be aired. Sam's was not the only talkative toaster, although theirs did seem to be the worst-mannered. No other appliances were affected; 2-slice, 4-slice, and toaster ovens were included, while conventional ovens and convection microwaves were not, even if you toasted a slice of bread in them (Mr. Wong had tried each to be sure). 

Theories abounded. The radiation from cell phone towers was at fault. No, a research experiment from the nearby university, although whether from the engineering or psychology department was undetermined. Someone had bunged up a wish to a genie. Toasters had been collecting all the missing mental capacity of humans before their morning coffee over the years and had finally reached the critical level pushing them over the edge into sentience. A playful deity had watched a certain children's film about a talking toaster and enjoyed it so much they'd decided to make it into reality.

As the bus approached Sam's stop, their stomach tied itself in knots. Any remaining hope they'd held of "having a better day" as their newly-conscious toaster claimed to want vanished entirely as they disembarked and walked the final block. The rapidly growing crowd already reached past the adjoining businesses on either side of the store, a strange mix of curious onlookers and apparent protestors with signs like "Not In My Kitchen" and "Unplug Them All". Sam breathed a heavy sigh, clipped on their cheap plastic name tag, and shouldered through the crowd to the entrance of their unfortunate place of employment: Tex's Toasters.