Willie Mae Truesdale was startled by a loud explosion emanating from her kitchen. Investigating the source, she was astounded to find her oven’s glass door shattered into pieces scattered across the floor. “It was shocking, you had to see it to believe it,” she recounted.
“It was like, what in the world? Glass shattered everywhere,” Truesdale exclaimed. Adding to the perplexity, her oven wasn’t even in use at the time. And what’s even more alarming: Truesdale isn’t alone in experiencing such a phenomenon.
The Mystery of Exploding Glass Oven Doors
Cheryl, a suburban mother, encountered a similar ordeal during the COVID-19 lockdown. Attempting to bake brownies, she discovered they were undercooked in the middle. Despite her oven being just three months old, she realized its temperature was off by about 25 degrees. After the lockdown, she called in a professional to rectify the issue. However, before the technician could arrive, she initiated a self-cleaning cycle. Towards the cycle’s end, a deafening explosion resounded, shattering the inner glass of the oven door.
Michelle Wheat faced a similar plight when her oven door exploded, leaving glass strewn across her kitchen. Like Truesdale, Wheat’s three-year-old oven was inactive at the time. Fortunately, her four young children escaped unharmed from the shattered glass. While Truesdale’s oven was from Frigidaire and Cheryl’s from Bosch, incidents of exploding glass doors aren’t limited to specific brands. In fact, the Consumer Product Safety Commission has received approximately 450 reports of such occurrences since 2019.
Regrettably, all three women encountered difficulties with the manufacturers following the incidents. While Truesdale’s oven was still under warranty, Frigidaire’s technician attributed the explosion to the family, despite the oven being off. Consequently, Truesdale had to bear the cost of a new door out of her own pocket. Fortunately, Bosch replaced Cheryl’s oven after NBC intervened.
Meanwhile, Wheat’s oven was no longer under warranty, leading to an additional expense of $314 to replace the shattered glass. Frigidaire’s suggestion for Wheat to purchase an extended warranty left the frustrated mother of six questioning the occurrence: “This should not have happened,” she asserted.
What Causes Oven Doors to Shatter?
Mark Meshulam of Chicago Window Expert sheds light on the matter: “There are two scenarios of why oven glass can break spontaneously.” He explains that soda lime glass, commonly used in oven doors, isn’t as tolerant of rapid temperature changes compared to borosilicate glass. This shift in glass type has contributed to an increase in such incidents.
However, it’s also probable that these explosions stem from a nickel sulfide inclusion, an extremely small flaw within the glass. “It’s only about a tenth of a millimeter in diameter. That little ball has some peculiar properties,” Meshulam explained, further adding, “over time, it’s struggling to escape. And sometimes, a high-heat event like oven cleaning can trigger the final spontaneous failure that was already present.”
Nonetheless, Meshulam offers reassurance regarding the safety of oven self-cleaning features. “Most people will go their entire lives using the self-cleaning feature without encountering this issue,” he remarked. He also suggests that microscopic chips and flaws are often the culprits behind oven explosions when they are not in use. However, what’s particularly alarming about this scenario is that the door can shatter long after the initial damage occurs.
Tips for Prevention
While some of these tiny points of damage may occur during production, shipping, or installation, homeowners can take steps to minimize damage at home. For instance, certain common habits can lead to microscopic scratches or chips on the glass. These include using aggressive cleaning techniques and subjecting the glass to excessive physical impact.
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I Invited My Friend Over, and His French-Speaking Skills Uncovered a Shocking Family Secret
When Chad’s French in-laws come over, he invites his friend, Nolan, along — to keep him company while Camille and her parents converse in French. While they have dinner, Chad discovers that Nolan understands French and reveals a family secret.
My wife, Camille, is as French as they come. We met at college when she was an exchange student studying International Politics, and we’ve been together ever since.
Camille’s parents live in France but visit us twice a year. I’ve learned a few odd words and phrases in French, but the language has yet to stick with me.
Other than mon chéri or various dishes from French cuisine, I don’t know much. Now, my in-laws are around, and it’s only been four days.
So, I decided to invite my friend, Nolan to have dinner and meet Camille’s parents. That way, I would also have someone to talk to.
Now imagine this:
We’re all sitting at the table, enjoying our bouillabaisse. Nolan and I talked about an audit at work, and Camille and her parents were happily chatting in French.
Everything seems fine, right? Wrong.
While mid-conversation about work, Nolan’s face goes as white as a ghost, and he nudges my arm firmly with his elbow.
“Go upstairs and check under your bed. Trust me,” he whispers urgently.
My first instinct was to laugh it off — it made no sense. But one look at his wide eyes told me that this wasn’t a joke.
“Excuse me,” I said to the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I reluctantly shuffled to my bedroom, feeling like I was stepping into some strange French noir film. I picked Camille’s silver silk robe off the floor and bent to look under the bed.
My heart was beating ridiculously fast like I was about to have a heart attack. But there it was — a lone black box.
I opened the box with shaky fingers, going through the contents quickly — I didn’t know if Camille would come looking for me. Then, toward the bottom of the box, was a series of photographs of Camille, wearing next to nothing.
My heart pounded harder and nausea rose through my body.
What have I just stumbled upon? I asked myself.
As I was about to put everything back, the world turned black.
It must have been hours later when I woke up in a hospital ward, surrounded by empty beds. The harsh light glared down on me as my eyes adjusted to the change of venue and the sharp smells of detergent.
“Woah,” I mumbled, my throat raw.
That’s when I noticed that Nolan was sitting next to me, his head propped up by his arm.
“You passed out in your bedroom, mate,” he said. “What happened?”
Then, it all came back to me. Camille’s box under the bed, my insatiable curiosity mixed with an overactive heart rate brought on by a panic attack.
But I did get a glimpse into the box. It turned out to be my own Pandora’s Box. There were incriminating photos of Camille, love letters to a man named Benoit, and little trinkets, all piecing together a tale of betrayal.
It turns out that Camille was hiding an affair.
“You were taking forever,” Nolan said. “So, I followed you, and I found you passed out on the floor. I closed the box and pushed it back under before calling Camille and an ambulance.”
“How did you know?” I asked, thinking about the warning Nolan had given me.
“I did French throughout high school, Chad,” he said. “While talking, I understood that Camille said something about hiding everything under the bed. I’m sorry.”
“Where’s Camille?” I asked.
“At the cafeteria, she said she needed to stretch her legs. So, she went to get coffee.”
I put my head back and thought of the letters that my wife had been receiving.
I got discharged the following day, and Nolan drove me home. Camille fussed over me, making me a healthy juice and ensuromg that I was okay. But of course I wasn’t. Nothing was okay.
That afternoon, I had to set the record straight. I couldn’t look at Camille and feel what I had felt before.
“I can’t continue in this marriage,” I said when Camille brought me a juice.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I know about the black box under the bed.”
Camille turned pale.
“I can explain,” she said, jumping up.
“I saw more than enough, Cami. I don’t think your version of an explanation would change that.”
“Just listen,” she said. “My parents set up the meeting with Benoit. They wanted me to be with someone French — to have completely French children.”
I looked at her, wondering how she expected me to sit there and listen to more.
“So, after they arranged it,” she continued. “I met him. And we hit it off, and our friendship grew.”
“I want a divorce. Immediately,” I said, not wanting to listen to anything else.
Camille made a fuss, hurling accusations of me snooping and invading her privacy. She threatened not to sign the divorce papers when they came, but I told her that there was just no love left in our marriage after what she had done.
“Give me another chance,” she pleaded.
But I didn’t want any of it.
The divorce process lasted a few months, and Camille contested everything — from the house to spousal maintenance — and she even wanted me to pay for her tickets to France every year. I refused everything except the house. I didn’t want to be there anymore anyway. I’m living in a bachelor pad closer to my office now.
I’m heartbroken, sure. But at least now, I’m not living a lie. And that’s liberating.
I’m also grateful to Nolan for telling me the truth and staying by my side through the divorce.
Now, I wonder if Camille will end up with Benoit or not — I know her parents will love it if she does.
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